A Heart Unleashed
by animalsienna
Summary: NWN2 OC, Bishop/KC
1. Prologue

_Her first memories are of grass._

_The fresh, green scent, the tickling of its tips on her skin, the whisper as the blades brush gently against one another. There is something pure, something _real _in this simple form of life. The grass has no problems, feels no pain. It lives, it grows, it dies, free from all stresses and responsibilities that characterize a life bound to civilization. That are unavoidable in a life such as hers._

_In this particular memory, there are tears. They run silently down her face. She can see them just slightly in the edges of her eyes, glinting in the soft light of dusk. Her sobs have long since died out, trailing into small whimpers, and then, eventually, into silence. The anger that she felt so fiercely has dissipated, replaced by a slight twinge of sadness in her heart. But that, too, has dulled somewhat._

_The feel of the earth beneath her comforts her, warmly inviting her to sink further into its wide embrace. She closes her eyes and clenches her small hands around fistfuls of grass. If only she could stay this way forever, lie in the clutches of the earth, and never have to go back. But she knows that that can never be. Sighing deeply, she pulls herself to her feet and turns back towards her home village._

* * *

Often, when she was young, Laiya would run away from West Harbor, disappearing into the heart of the Mere. She would seek reprieve from the harsh words and malicious laughter of the other children, trying to escape from the stinging comments that would sink so easily into her skin. Being the foster daughter of the only elf in an otherwise human village, she was already an obvious target for the ridicule of her peers. But there was something else about her, perhaps the way she avoided the eyes of others, or how she was always slipping off into the forest, that really alienated her from the rest. Most of the children simply avoided her the way she avoided them. But there were a few who somehow always felt the need to make her life miserable: namely, the Mossfelds. There were only two people that she considered her friends: Amie Fern and Bevil Starling.

Amie and herself had been close as long as she could remember. Both of them had lost their parents in the battle fought at West Harbor so long ago. And both tended to avoid the company of the other children in the village. But where Laiya had always been a loner, and kept away from the others, Amie's liking for solitude hadn't really blossomed until her body had. She was by far the prettiest girl in the village, and around the year she turned thirteen, she began to attract the attention of the boys. She never seemed interested in them, though, and so she started to drift apart from the rest of the children. It was during this time that she grew to be good friends with both Laiya and Bevil.

Bevil's friendship was very different from Amie's. He, like Laiya, was a misfit without _choosing _to be a misfit, the way Amie had. He was shy and introverted. The Mossfelds called him 'queer' and played pranks on him, teasing him even more than they ever teased Laiya. She had never understood the problem that those boys had with her and Bevil. Their attitudes towards Amie, perhaps, she could make sense of: Tarmas' apprentice had turned down their affections, choosing instead to spend her time with a couple of misfits. Wyl Mossfeld, in particular, had shown a romantic interest in Amie, and it made sense to Laiya that Amie's constant rejections would make him feel hurt and jealous. But Bevil and herself had brought no quarrel to the Mossfelds; it was almost as if their reluctance to mingle with their peers somehow angered the boys. This was something that she had never been able to wrap her mind around.

* * *

Those _jerks._

_Of course it has happened before – it has happened _many _times before. Each time she tells herself she is being stupid, that their words mean nothing, that she can't let them bother her. She is better than that. But by the Gods, their insults still _hurt. _Each time she resolves that this is the last she will let them get to her, that she will never again shed tears because of their actions or words. They aren't worth it, that she is sure of._

_She leans back into the bark of the tree and wipes angry tears from her eyes. Her rust-red hair is tangled, filled with sticks and dirt and hastily pulled behind her ears to get it out of her face. There are rips and tears in her clothing, recently formed scrapes and bruises on her skin. She has traveled hastily through the forest, not bothering to avoid the branches and brambles that always catch at her clothing and skin. Daeghun is used to her coming back in such states. He always presents an air of indifference, chiding her for ruining yet another set of clothing. If she looks closely, though, she can sometimes catch a hint of worry in his eyes. She knows he is concerned, even if he does not show it. His worry is not for the state of her clothing, or even for the scrapes and scratches on her skin. She knows that what worries him are the harsh words that lead her to run off in the first place._

_The other adults in the village disapprove of most of Daeghun's parenting philosophies. None of them would ever even consider letting a seven-year-old girl wander into the forest alone. And her foster father had let her do just that at an even earlier age than she is now. But somehow Daeghun understands that the forest is the only place where she can truly find solace. He has taught her well in the art of traveling through the woodlands, of finding her way around and, if necessary, how to live off the land. She knows what plants are edible, and which make the best medicines. She knows how to hunt and trap, though she has never been able to bring herself to prey on the animals of the forest. They are a little too much like family to her. She had caught on quickly to the tricks of living and functioning in the wilderness, and Daeghun has never worried for her safety in the forests of the Mere._

_She wipes her nose on her sleeve, trying to shut out the very recent memory of the Mossfelds' mocking comments. They have teased her so often, it really shouldn't bother her anymore. But they have had practice, they know now how to get to her, what comments are really able to get under her skin._

"Stupid _tree-girl,_"_ they called her. _"You always run away. You can't run away from _life. _Fine, go cry in the forest. Waah-waah!" _Wyl Mossfeld brought his fists to his eyes and rubbed them mockingly. He called after her as she fled their taunts. _"Nobody wants you here anyways! You don't even help anyone, you just run away. You'll never be a great fighter, like me and my brothers. We're going to be the best ever! But you'll always be a _nobody._" _Another tear slides down her cheek as she remembers those words. Why they hurt her so much, she doesn't know. It's not like they haven't said those same things to her before. It's not like their words actually _mean _anything._

"You'll always be a nobody."

_She stomps her bare heel insolently into the dirt. _I'm _not _a nobody!

But then, who am I?

_She takes a deep gulp of forest air, trying to get a handle on her emotions. She isn't going to let herself be this upset because of a handful of stupid morons like the Mossfelds. She closes her eyes and concentrates on breathing in the clean air, letting the smell of the forest overwhelm her. Leaves, dirt, grass, bark, the fur and feathers of the forest's animal life. She loves all of these scents. The chirps and calls, the whistles and yelps of the animals make her feel at peace, at home with the world around her. The whisper of wind in the trees draws her in as she feels a gentle breeze play across her face. And she looses herself._

_When she opens her eyes, the light that filters down through the canopy above her is dimming. A little voice in her head tells her that she should start heading home. She has been in the forest at night before, but she knows that if she stays away for too long, her friends will start to worry. She looks around at her surroundings, watching the golden sunlight dance on the ground, catching the grass and fallen leaves in a playful embrace. In the trees around her, she sees movement; a bird hops from one branch to another, a lizard scuttles through the brush, some larger animal passes farther away, its eyes glinting as it glances at her briefly, and continues on its way. A squirrel scurries around at her feet, looking for food among the leaves, preparing for the coming winter. She remembers when she first started wandering into the forest, how the creatures had avoided her at all costs, and how, over the years, they seemed to acclimate to her presence, daring to come closer and closer to her, until finally, it seemed as though they paid her no mind at all. They are at peace with her, and she with them._

_As her gaze drifts around her surroundings, it dawns on her that this is not a part of the forest she knows. In her anger at the Mossfelds, she had run for much longer than usual, and she is now deeper in the Mere than she has ever been before. This does not worry her overly much, as she feels perfectly at ease with any and all parts of the forest. What she does realize is that it will probably take her longer to find her way back home. Reluctantly, she rises to her feet._

_She wanders through the forest for a bit, trying to find landmarks that will take her back to West Harbor, but she is not able to find any such hints. She was so blinded by tears and emotion on her way here that she failed to take note of anything that might help her find her way back. The layout of this part of the forest is strikingly unfamiliar to her, and she realizes with a slight tinge of worry that she is deeper in the forest than she had thought. She knows how to survive in the wilderness, this is true, but she feels a growing tension as she continues to try, and fail, to find her way back home. _Don't panic, _she tells herself firmly, _you'll figure it out.

But what if I never find my way back?

_She stops what she is doing and stands still. By now the sun has almost set, and the forest is bathed in shadow. She closes her eyes and inhales deeply, trying to calm her mind. It is then that she feels a slight twinge at the edge of her consciousness. Her eyes open. Only a few yards in front of her, its deep brown eyes latched on her, is a black wolf. She blinks once, twice. She is used to being close to the animals, even the bigger ones such as wolves and panthers, but never has an animal looked at her quite like that. Never has a creature of the forest held her gaze so steadily. And all at once, she feels a pang of fear. So far, she seems to have had a truce with the animals: she doesn't bother them, and they don't bother her. Even the bigger ones have left her alone. But she knows that wolves are predators. And though she is tall for her age, she is still only seven, and therefore, small. The perfect prey. A part of her mind tells her to run, but fortunately she has the presence of mind to silence it. She knows that running will only encourage a chase. And so she stares silently at the wolf, knowing that she should not look so steadily into its eyes, and yet unable to tear herself away._

_Suddenly she feels a panic, a worry...it is hers, but it is _not. _Almost as if her own fear were being reflected back at her. It seeps in through the edges of her consciousness, originating not from herself, but somewhere else. And then, accompanying this reflected fear, there is another presence flowing into her, reassuring, calm, comforting. Suddenly, she is no longer afraid. The wolf takes a few cautious steps towards her, and she feels something else coming to her – concern, worry, images of a girl leaving a small village, stumbling blindly through the forest, tears streaming down her cheeks. Images of _her.

_Realization hits her like a silent spell. The images she sees in her head are coming from the wolf, the comforting presence is _his, _and __the concern and worry are for her, the little girl he saw running from her home. The fear is her own, a fear that the wolf can sense, that he has sent back at her, trying to calm it. The wolf is somehow sending her his thoughts, his feelings, and images from his mind, his very presence mingling slightly with hers._

_And she knows that the wolf can lead her back home._

* * *

As unjustified as their hatred for Amie, Bevil and Laiya seemed to be, the Mossfelds had always been cruel to the three of them. They would comment on the girls' dead parents and make fun of Bevil's aversion to spending time with the other boys in the village, labeling him as a faggot, as being gay. She hadn't known the meaning of the terms at first, until one time, during their preteen years, the Mossfelds had confronted the three of them and began teasing Bevil. She had watched in confusion as Ward and Webb Mossfeld had grabbed each other and pretended to kiss, had crudely thrust themselves at one another, laughing wickedly. For the first time, she began to understand what it was they were calling him. It was an odd thought to her, that a man could be attracted to another man. It was something she had not seen nor, until then, heard of, and she wondered briefly if it was something that actually happened, or if the Mossfelds had simply thought it up to embarrass Bevil. But then again, she had heard of much stranger things happening in the world. Maybe that was why Bevil felt so out of place among the other boys, why he chose to spend his time with her and Amie instead. In truth, she had never seen him openly express attraction to a girl; but then again, he had not done so to any of the boys either. She never asked him about it, because it was obviously a topic that made him uncomfortable. She knew the Mossfelds were cruel, and the things they said were more often false than not, but she couldn't help wondering whether there was a reason they called Bevil gay. Perhaps he was.

In the beginning, the Mossfelds' attacks had been solely verbal, but as the years passed by, they became rougher. They began to pick on the three misfits in a much more violent way. They would corner one of the three of them and close in. They would hit and kick, snarl and spit, seeming to draw some sort of twisted joy from beating another child into the ground. Luckily for her, Laiya never seemed to come away from these fights with any serious injuries, the minor cuts and bruises she obtained usually vanished within a few days, as did most other injuries she managed to procure. In fact, Laiya seemed to heal more quickly than anyone else in the village. She didn't know why, but she was grateful.

The Mossfeld beatings were some of Laiya's first encounters with hand-to-hand combat. From them she had learned to dodge and duck, to block their fists and redirect their attacks. And she had learned how to fight back. She never won against the Mossfelds – they only attacked when they could outnumber her, three to one, and they had had much more training in fighting than she. Their style was crude and brutal, perhaps, but they certainly had practice. As she became more adept at facing them, however, she began to be able to distract them long enough to get away, to slip away from them as they closed in on her. She also learned to move quietly, silently, even, when she was around them, to listen for their raucous voices and heavy footsteps. She became an expert at avoiding them. She also learned to stay close to her two friends, as the Mossfelds never attacked when the three of them were together, preferring to ambush them when they were alone. Their little pack of misfits grew much closer because of this. Laiya also ended up disappearing into the Mere more often, sometimes for days on end, and during this time she grew even closer to the land.

* * *

_For once, she was not in the forest because of the Mossfelds. She had not come here crying, nor to avoid one of their irritating prowls as they searched the village for her or one of her friends. She is here simply to relax, to breathe in the forest air and admire the beauty of the trees. She has been wandering into the forest much more often recently, enjoying the freedom of wandering the woods. She relishes the earthy scent of the forest and the sounds of life amongst the trees. At fourteen, the villagers no longer complain quite as audibly about her excursions into the forest, and so she feels no reason to stick around the village when she could instead be wandering the woods._

_She has become a sort of strange forest animal, different in appearance and behavior than the rest that reside here, but still part of their community. She has her own place in the web of life, taking the role of helping hand, protecting the creatures from__ the hunters that sometimes wander into the forest. She helps the animals find food and shelter when they need it, she patches up their wounds with herbs from the forest when they are injured. She enjoys living this way, being a protector of nature. It feels right, somehow._

_She often envies the animals and their many different traits. She loves the way the great cats move through the forest, swift and silent. She wishes often that she could experience the exhilarating sensation of flight, could soar over the forest like the great eagles and hawks. She stands now, leaning against an old tree, watching a badger snuffle through the dirt. She admires the creature's handsome black and white complexion, the long snout, the intelligent eyes, the powerful claws and teeth. She closes her eyes and imagines what it would be like to be a badger. In her mind's eye, she waddles through the trees, sniffing along the ground, searching for insects that she can munch on. She tilts her head to look down and admires her long, black claws. She flexes her paw and watches the sharp points of those claws pierce the dirt. On a sudden impulse, she begins to claw at the ground beneath her, digging into the earth. She feels the dirt being pulled up by her powerful paws, enjoying the sensation. When she has dug a small hole, she stops and admires her rather pointless handiwork. She then closes her dark badger eyes and lets her consciousness return to her human form._

_When she opens her eyes, the first thing she notices is that she is no longer leaning against a tree. The second is a small hole in the ground before her, fresh dirt piled around it and the unmistakable markings of powerful claws having dug into that very spot._

I must be dreaming.

_She isn't dreaming, someone conveys to her. She looks up to see a squirrel in the tree above her, looking down at her curiously. From the squirrel, Laiya learns that she has been blessed with magic from the greater god of nature, Silvanus. _

_Laiya expresses her surprise at this, having been told throughout her life that the gods only grant magic to their followers._

_A confusion flows into her, coming from the squirrel. The red-haired girl is a follower of nature, this the squirrel knows._

A follower of nature, perhaps, _she thinks, _but I do not follow a god.

_Of course the squirrel does not understand the words themselves, but she easily senses the meaning behind them. Looking down from her perch, she chatters chidingly at the slim girl beneath her. Silvanus is the god of nature. The girl follows nature. Therefore, the girl follows Silvanus. This is the squirrel's logic, this is what all animals of the forest know to be true._

_The girl ponders this for a moment, then directs a questioning thought at the squirrel. Does this mean she can take on the form of animals? In response, she is met by the image of a badger, digging a hole in the ground. Suddenly, the badger stops, closes its eyes, and slowly but smoothly transforms into a red-haired human girl._

I'll take that as a yes.

* * *

For a very long time, Laiya kept her ability a secret, even from those closest to her. Though she knew it was unlikely her friends would have any negative feelings towards it, there was a small part of her that was afraid that her strange new powers would end up alienating her even more from the rest of the villagers. And if the Mossfelds found out...she could only imagine the new, biting insults they would throw at her. _Badger-girl...monster...she's not even human! _So for years, she kept her powers to herself.

It was around this time in her life that Bevil convinced her to join the West Harbor Militia. She had never been one for wielding big, heavy weapons, and much preferred to fight with her fists, or, even better, to not fight at all. But Bevil insisted that it would be a good experience for her, and that it would be a fun way for them to spend time together. She often wondered if he really just wanted her there so he wouldn't feel so out of place. The Mossfelds were in the militia, which couldn't have made things easy for him. Though Laiya never really got the hand of using heavy swords and the like, she did find one kind of weapon that worked for her. Small and light, she could easily hold a pair of twin daggers without being slowed. She liked the way she could make these weapons fly around so quickly and effortlessly, and how she could hide them almost anywhere on her person. The militia taught her how to use the daggers well, and she soon became very proficient.

Her shapeshifting, too, improved during this time. When she wasn't training with the militia, almost all of her time was spent in the forest, practicing her shapeshifting in secret and enjoying the exhilarating experience of taking on the form of another creature. She learned how to fly, how to climb, how to dig and swim using the shapes that were most adept at the activity. She thoroughly enjoyed this practice, and soon her shifts became faster and smoother, until it was almost second nature for her to change from one form to the next. Her progress in shapeshifting and in fighting, however, were not the only changes going on during this time in her life.

Laiya had never been as pretty as Amie, and throughout the earlier years of her life, she had been seen as a somewhat boyish figure. She was always covered in dirt, with sticks and leaves tangled in her hair, and various cuts and scrapes littered across her skin. Her face was not round, nor feminine, characterized instead by hard lines and a stubbornly set jaw. She had a small mouth, deep-set eyes, and an unremarkable nose. Her features were not sharp, but neither were they soft, instead falling somewhere in between. Her eyebrows would often pull together, her brow tying itself in knots, her blue-black eyes lost deep in thought. She had always been rather slim, probably the product of spending all her time running through the forest. It wasn't until her sixteenth year that she really started to show signs of being female. It was an odd time for her, as she was not used to having male eyes on her, especially when those eyes were not focused on her face. She must not have been drop-dead gorgeous, however, for it wasn't until almost a year later that any of the boys actually approached her.

* * *

_It is the night after the High Harvest Fair, and all the teenagers of the village are gathered in the Winslows' home. It is a big event in this small village. There is talking and laughing, dancing and music. There is also alcohol aplenty, as the villagers of West Harbor are not very specific when it comes to the drinking age. She had not wanted to go, but for some reason Amie had shown an interest, and managed to talk her and Bevil into coming along as well. It isn't until later that night, when she sees Amie getting rather cozy with Ron Winslow, that she understands why her friend had been so eager to go. Apparently, the young wizard has finally returned a boy's affections._

_For most of the night, she has been standing at the edge of the room watching the rest of the West Harbor teenagers dance, Bevil at her side and feeling just as awkward as herself. It is probably a little before midnight when Bevil finally leaves, telling her that his mother will want him back. She seriously considers leaving as well, tempted by the idea of a warm bed and cup of tea, but reluctantly stays. The party is still going strong, and Amie has already had a few drinks. She feels a responsibility to look after her friend._

"_Finally. I thought he'd never leave." A young man slightly older than herself, probably eighteen or nineteen, has taken Bevil's place by her side, one shoulder leaning casually against the wall. His hair hangs in his face with a sort of untidy nonchalance, its golden color reminding her of fresh straw on a sunny day. His face is handsome, lit by a beautiful smile, which reveals pretty white teeth. There is a mischievous twinkle in his brown eyes, looking down at her from over six feet of height. She recognizes him as Seth Johnson, the farmer's son._

_Her heart gives an unfamiliar little flip._

"_So," he begins, "that was the Starling kid, right?" His smile is making her slightly dizzy. "He your boyfriend or something?"_

"_I – what?" She asks, taking a moment to process the question. "Oh, uh, no. He's just a friend."_

"_Perfect," he responds, his smile growing wider. "In that case, would you like to dance?"_

_She blinks, opening her mouth, but her voice dies in her throat. She nods silently, wide-eyed. He chuckles slightly, grabs her hand, and sweeps her off her feet._

_The next morning she is no longer a virgin._

* * *

Laiya and Seth barely even spoke together again after that night. Somehow, they both understood that what happened had been a passing fancy, that neither really knew the other in any sense other than the physical. So they kept apart. Laiya was rather disappointed at having lost her virginity to someone with whom she shared almost nothing, but she could not deny that she had enjoyed herself that night. She soon stopped letting it bother her.

It was only a few weeks later that she finally revealed her shapeshifting abilities to her fellow Harbormen.

* * *

_She can hear them coming long before, and silently curses herself for convincing Bevil that she does _not _need help fetching wood for Daeghun. It is winter, and the snow lies heavily over West Harbor. Unfortunately, this snow makes it near impossible for her to mask her footsteps, and she is sure that they can hear her crunching footsteps as well as she can hear theirs. And she knows that they will come. She thinks that perhaps she can get away quickly, before they catch up to her, and so she slides through a gap in the houses, stepping lightly across the white ground, listening in irritation to the loud crunching of snow beneath her feet. She makes a mental note to practice moving quietly through the snow. Suddenly she finds herself standing still, her passage blocked by a large wagon, property of the traveling merchant Galen. There are houses on either side, and she can hear the Mossfelds' footsteps, just about to round the corner._

Gods damn it, _she thinks to herself._

"_What have we here?" drawls Wyl Mossfeld, his footsteps falling harshly on the snow. "A pretty little forest-girl, caught out in the cold. What a pitiful sight." The Mossfeld boys close in on her. She is trapped._

"_Careful, Mossfeld," she shoots angrily, "if you work too hard at making words come out of your mouth, you may lose your balance and fall in the snow. And we wouldn't want that, now would we?"_

"_Shut up," he spits at her. "Silly forest-girl, you think you're so special with your fancy words and your creepy _animal _friends. You're nothing more than a common slut."_

_She blinks, taken aback. "_What _did you just call me?" There is anger in her voice, and her eyes look more black than blue._

_Wyl Mossfeld grins wickedly, sensing a sore spot. "Don't think we haven't heard what you did to poor Johnson the night of the fair. I'm sure the whole town knows by now."_

_She snarls, the inhuman sound ripping viciously from her throat._

"_Oh, I'm so scared. Growl all you want, you'll still just be a pathetic little forest slut, nothing more. You were never going to amount to anything, anyway."_

_She can't help herself. She lunges at them, fists drawn back, and makes to hit Wyl Mossfeld in the face. She has broadcast her attack quite openly, however, and he manages to get out of the way. His brothers close in on her and make to grab her arms with their burly hands. She twists lithely out of their grip and ducks under the punch that Wyl has just thrown at her. As she comes back up, her fist follows, aimed for his chin, but she is stopped as someone violently grabs her hair from behind and hurls her backwards._

_She hits the merchant's cart with enough force to make her yelp, but keeps her wits together and rolls out of the way of Ward's kick, aimed for her head. She jerks herself up to a standing position, but still hurting from her fall, she takes a moment to steady herself. In that moment, Webb and Ward lunge for her arms once again, and this time, they are able to latch on. The push her back against the side of a house – she is not sure whose house it is, perhaps Old Jim's? – and Wyl throws a solid punch straight to her face._

_She hisses as the blow connects, she hears a snap and thinks her nose might have broken. She struggles in vain against the Mossfeld brothers' hold, and can only watch as Wyl draws back his fist once again...and stops, his jaw dropping open. The other brothers follow his gaze, and latch their eyes on her face, both wearing identical expressions of horror. _What, _she thinks, _you can't handle seeing the damage _you _inflict? _Taking advantage of their shock, she rips herself from the Mossfelds' grasp, and ducks under Wyl's raised arm, elbowing him neatly in the back as she goes. He whips around in anger at the strike, and she makes to duck under his arm again, but she is too late. His forearm lashes into her with an angry force, and she is flung across the small distance and into the wall of the neighboring house._

_She hears a loud _crack _as her hand slams into the wall, followed almost immediately by an intense pain that shoots up her right arm. Her hand is burning with a painful fire, and she knows that her knuckles are broken. The Mossfelds seem to have been shocked into inaction by whatever it was they saw on her face. Even Wyl, after knocking her into the wall, is standing stock-still, staring at her dumbly. She pulls her hand, broken and bloody, into her chest, cradling it, and then blinks in surprise as her knuckles seem to shift of their own accord. She watches in stunned silence as her fingers move slightly in their sockets, rearranging themselves. After a few seconds, the movement stops. She carefully clenches and unclenches her hand. There is no pain. She hastily wipes her hands on her pants, and then brings her fingers up to feel her nose._

_She is pleased to find that it is in perfect condition._

_The Mossfelds' stupor finally seems to be wearing off. They are advancing on her once again, shaking their heads as if waking from a strange dream. She knows that she cannot beat them in combat while she is outnumbered like this. But she has another idea. She stays where she is as the Mossfelds come closer, until the boys launch themselves at her with a strange sort of fury. She hesitates for a moment, waiting until they are mere inches from hitting her. And then she disappears._

_She scuttles forward, her tiny claws digging into the snow, her long rat's whiskers guiding her along the ground. Her large ears pick up a crashing sound, and she knows that the Mossfelds have pummeled into one another, and into the wall against which she was standing only moments ago. She hears cursing, the sound of hands pushing against limbs, the brothers trying to disentangle themselves from one another. Figuring that she has put just enough distance between her and the boys, she turns and slides smoothly from one shape to the next. In her new form, she utters a low, rumbling growl, the fur on the back of her neck bristling threateningly. She watches as the Mossfelds, still entangled with one another and mostly facing the wall, freeze at the sound. She can smell their shock, their fear, as they stare at the wall in front of them and listen to the rumbling behind. She watches with amusement as they slowly turn their heads toward the sound._

_And lay eyes on a massive grizzly bear, fangs bared and hackles raised, growling angrily at them._

_She toys with the idea of beating them around a bit in her grizzly form. They could certainly use a little roughing up. She quickly decides against it, however, reasoning that her sudden transformation into an eight-foot-tall bear will give them enough to think about as it is._

_They stand there, frozen with shock, and watch in amazement as the bear melts easily into the form of a red-haired girl. She gives them one last, measuring look, then turns and walks away, the snow crunching softly beneath her feet._

_For the first time in her life, she has won._

* * *

Perhaps it was the rather shocking fashion in which she revealed her shapeshifting abilities, or perhaps she had simply misjudged the Mossfelds' reaction, but they never teased her about her powers. In fact, they never bothered her again after that day. Word of her powers spread quickly through West Harbor. At first the villagers were taken aback: shapeshifting, though not unheard of, had certainly never had a presence in West Harbor before. Over time, however, they became more comfortable with the notion, and Laiya's strange abilities became just another part of normal harbor life. A life that, for Laiya, seemed as happy as it could get.

It wasn't until six years later that she realized just what it was she had been missing.


	2. Falling

She fluttered through the treetops, whistling happily in the sweet morning air. It had been over nine years since she had discovered the ability to melt into the form of another creature. The movement felt natural now, as easy as flying. Not that flying had been easy when she first made the attempt. Assuming it would come naturally, that the bird's instincts would take over and she would be soaring through the air without even thinking about it, she had jumped head-first off the top of one of the tallest trees she could find. She remembered opening her wings, remembered the air catching at her feathers, the resistance slowing her fall, until she had come to a complete stop. For just an instant, she had been floating, suspended in nothing, her entire world stretched out beneath her. Exhilaration thrilled through her tiny veins, and she had enthusiastically flapped her wings.

Then she was falling.

Her wing had slipped, like a foot might slip on a stairwell, missing the intended step and too surprised to catch the next one. The air had rushed past her like a storm, the ground below came at her like it wanted nothing better than to squash her flat. She tried to pull out her wings, to catch the furious wind, but it had shoved them roughly back against her tiny body. Helplessly caught in its grasp, she had plummeted, branches slapping her painfully as she went, until she had landed with a soft _thump _in the mossy ground below. The landing had not hurt her, but the canopy she had crashed through left her painfully bruised, her left wing lying at an odd angle beside her. She had lain there for a few minutes, stunned, as the bones in her wing instinctively began to shift themselves, sliding into place and fusing back together. The soreness that saturated her small frame began to diminish, her bruises shrinking, until her tiny bird body was as good as new. Her mind, however, was still in shock, so she had remained as still as stone for a while longer, until the surprise began to fall away, and she regained the presence of mind she needed to shift back to human form. It was only luck that had kept her from being snatched up by some hungry creature during that time.

After that, she had been much more cautious about flying. She practiced diving off of small stumps and boulders, trying to catch herself before she landed. It took some time, but eventually it had come to her. Now, it was second nature for her to flit through branches and twirl gracefully in the air. She felt comfortable in the form of a bird, as comfortable as if she had been born as such. All animal forms felt this way now – in fact, she no longer considered herself as belonging solely to the human race.

The sun was high in the sky by now, and the scent of early autumn had begun to fill the air. She had a lesson with Daeghun at noon – he had insisted she let him teach her how to use a bow properly. Not that she would ever need it. She had outright refused to let him teach her how to track and hunt. Though she understood the need for their meat and fur, she could not bring herself to hurt the creatures she had come to know and love. Besides, they trusted her, and she wasn't about to throw that away.

She swept through the treetops, dodging trunks and branches effortlessly. Soon the landscape changed. Grass and dirt gave way to mud and vines, the trees thinned, and a wetness settled in around her. If she were walking, she would have avoided this swampy part of the Mere, but as it was, she didn't need to worry about her feet sinking into the wet ground. Flying through the swamp was fine; it was when she traversed it by foot that she could look forward to nightmares.

Soon the ground started to become drier and the heaviness evaporated from the air. There was something else, too, something not quite as familiar. Music was floating around her, a light tune that met her in the air and grew louder as she approached the village. She touched down by the edge of the Starling farm, shifting into her human form as she landed. She could hear someone singing, in a voice she didn't recognize. She made her way towards the center of the village, where the sound was coming from. There was a small crowd gathered around the source of the music: a young man singing and playing a lute. The melody of his music seemed to wash over her, sweeping through her ears, spinning in her head, and settling in her heart. His voice was light and melodious: it reminded her of the splashing of water on stones. She stood with the rest of the villagers, enraptured by the sound.

_Plants will wither, leaves will fall  
But buds still bloom and birds still call  
Through rainy day and icy night  
Life has always stayed to fight_

_There is no good without evil  
There is no wrong without right  
Differences bring us together  
And we join in the circle of life_

_For each day past, a new begins  
When air is chill, there's warmth within  
Hearts are broken, tears are shed  
But love won't falter in its stead_

_It is light that casts shadow  
Love that brings pain  
Hope thrives in darkness  
Loss leads to gain_

_Through all of our woes  
Our troubles and strife  
Every battle  
Gives meaning to life_

_There is no good without evil  
There is no wrong without right  
Our differences bring us together  
And we join in the circle of life_

Laiya watched with awe as the bard's fingers danced over his instrument. Her gaze drifted to his face, which was filled with the emotion of the words he was singing. His eyes were a startling shade of green, bright and clear. Then he turned those eyes to hers and smiled.

She would remember that song for the rest of her life.

* * *

Daeghun was waiting for her behind their house. He made no comment about her tardiness, though she could tell he wasn't too happy about having to wait for her. The lesson was short, and wholly unproductive, as her mind kept drifting back to a pair of bright green eyes. She spent the rest of her day wandering the Mere in various forms, thinking about the song she had heard, and the handsome bard who had smiled at her. She wondered who he was and where he had come from. There weren't many travelers who came to West Harbor.

The next day she woke at the crack of dawn for militia training. Bevil beat her so badly in the practice ring that she had trouble convincing Georg that she was feeling OK. "I'm fine, Georg," she told him earnestly, trying to focus on the drills they were doing. "Just distracted, is all."

When practice ended late that afternoon, Laiya headed straight for Tarmas' house, intending to meet Amie there. She had barely left the old supply barn, however, when she was stopped by the very same man she had watched performing the day before.

"Hi," he said as he stepped in front of her. She blinked, surprised. "You're...Laiya, right?" He asked.

"Yes, I am," She wasn't surprised that he knew her name; few things were unknown to even the newest of arrivals in a town as small as West Harbor.

"I take it you didn't like my song yesterday." He tilted his head to the side, and she could feel the disappointment behind his words.

She blinked again. "What? Are you kidding? I loved it!"

"Oh," he said, obviously surprised. "I suppose there's some other reason you high-tailed it out of there after I'd finished?"

She smiled at him, understanding. "I was late for an archery lesson."

"Ah, that would explain it." He looked rather relieved. "I have to admit, it really bothered me to think you found my music so repulsive."

"What, you've never had someone dislike your music?" she asked skeptically.

"Dislike, it sure. Run away at the sound of it, no. Then when I tried to find you to ask what was wrong, I couldn't." He smiled back at her; a goofy, crooked smile. "I had to ask quite a few people around town to learn where to find you."

He had asked for her? Searched for her? That could mean one of two things: he was either very proud, and couldn't stand the idea that his music had been rejected, or he was some sort of creepy stalker, and that was simply his excuse to come after her. Or maybe he had felt what she had – the electric pulse that had passed between them when their eyes first met.

But there was something – she didn't know what it was, but _something _told her that there was no separate agenda, no web of pretty words to wrap around her. His piercing eyes hid nothing but sincerity, and – and something more. She sensed, and somehow she _knew _that the importance of what he felt had nothing to do with his pride. It didn't matter that someone had disliked his music – it wouldn't matter much if someone had _hated _his music – what mattered was that _she _was the one who had walked away.

She couldn't help but feel flattered.

"An archery lesson," he repeated, shaking his head. "And here I was thinking I had done something to offend you."

"You didn't," she assured him.

There was a short moment where neither of them spoke, instead simply smiling at one another.

"So," Laiya continued, watching the way his coppery-brown hair seemed to swim in the breeze. "You never told me your name."

His smile grew wider. "I'm Elias," he told her. "Elias Finn. It's a pleasure to meet you."

* * *

"It's nothing like this small town. If you stand in the center of West Harbor, you can pretty much see the entire village. But if you were to stand in the center of Waterdeep – I imagine that what you'd see would be less than a fraction of just one of its districts. The buildings are larger than anything you've seen here – some of them are bigger than West Harbor itself." He spread his hands for emphasis. "Some are simple and run down – people who don't have much to spend can almost certainly find a cheap home somewhere in Waterdeep – but others are elaborate works of art, constructed by the most well-known, influential builders of their time. There are buildings that have been around for hundreds of years, and others that are still under construction. It's beautiful, really.

"And the people – you can't imagine the variety of the people there. Sure, most of the inhabitants are human, but there are always others – in every size, shape, and color you can think of. Elves, dwarves, halflings, gnomes, people with the blood of gods...or fiends...in their veins. Then there are those who are none of the above but rather a mix of all of them. There are people with black or green skin, with red eyes, or white eyes, or eyes without pupils. Some even have wings or horns or a tail.

"Yet somehow, with all of these amazing creatures around me, what fascinated me most was one of the most common traits – an elf's pointed ears. I even asked my mother once if she would teach me how to grow ears like that." He chuckled and took a sip of his mead.

They were tucked in a corner of the Buckmans' inn, and Elias was recounting his memories of the great city of Waterdeep, where he had grown up under the care of his merchant mother. Laiya was leaning towards him, her elbows perched on the edge of their table. Her mug sat to the side, forgotten, as she lapped up his every word. She had never before had a proper conversation with anyone from outside West Harbor, and she found his story fascinating.

Hours passed as they sat there, Elias recounting his travels – his journey along the Sword Coast, including the time he spent in Amn and the various incredible sights he had seen – and Laiya listening intently, questioning him mercilessly about everything he told her. The windows grew dark and the room grew quieter, people filtering out to put their children to bed, then to retire home themselves. It wasn't until the early hours of the morning that their conversation lulled, the silence of the empty room finally – though not uncomfortably – settling around them. Laiya picked up her long-forgotten mug and drank some now-cold and stale-tasting mead, leaning back in her seat as she did so.

"So...why are you here in West Harbor?" She began, pulling the conversation to the present. "It doesn't seem like a...well, a very interesting place to come to."

"This isn't actually my destination. I'm headed to Neverwinter," he told her. "West Harbor is a bit out of the way, but from what I've heard it's a better place to stop than at the Weeping Willow Inn. I needed to restock and hopefully make some coin to help with the rest of the journey." A note of reluctance wove its way into his voice. "I'm heading out again in the morning."

"Oh," was all she was able to say. The word was painted with disappointment, outlined in surprise. Her gaze shifted down to the murky yellow liquid in her mug, her fingers rubbing the cool metal with her thumbs. She stared at her drink for a while, as the silence around them grew heavier, oppressive. "I suppose you should be getting some sleep, then."

She didn't mean to sound so dismissive, to push him away. It was her disappointment that pulled the words from her tongue and gave them shape: a shape characterized by its hard, blunt edges. Their conversation up until now seemed to blow away; the words and laughter they had shared suddenly meant nothing – and there was nothing more to say.

"I..." Elias began, then stopped and sighed. "I suppose that's for the best." He smiled halfheartedly. "I've really enjoyed this," he told her sincerely. "Perhaps we'll meet again someday."

Her eyes brightened. The levity she had felt throughout the night returned somewhat. "I'd like that. I'd like that a lot."

* * *

She knew before he left that she would miss him. She knew that, if she ever left West Harbor, if she ever had the chance to travel, she would follow him. She would look for him. And she hoped to Silvanus she would find him.

There was a wind in the air that day. Not an aimless breeze that ruffled clothing and danced through stray locks of hair, but a purposeful force, spiraling into strong columns that swept through the village and drove a chill into the flesh of its people. It was not cold, per say, but there was certainly a sting to the air. The trees swayed, their branches shaking and littering the air with newly colored leaves: red and yellow and brown. These leaves danced with the air, spinning wildly in the sky, driven into havoc by the force of the wind.

She trudged aimlessly through the village, letting the wind pull viciously at her hair and clothing. Her eyes were on the ground before her, her ears on the wind, and her heart and mind on Elias Finn. She was so lost in this strange world of hers that she almost didn't hear his call.

"Hey, Laiya!"

Her feet plodded along, taking a few more steps before the words found their way through. She looked up. She blinked.

"Elias?"

He smiled and walked towards her. She blinked again.

"I thought you were leaving for Neverwinter?" She had thought he'd be long gone by now.

"Not so fast. I told you all about myself last night, now its your turn." He cocked his head at her. "You didn't think you could get away without telling me your story?"

She smiled at him, her heart flooding with sudden happiness.

"OK, then follow me. Its time I showed you my domain."

She led him deep into the forest, circling around the swamp and heading for one of the clearings she was most familiar with: a large grassy area surrounded by trees, with a large boulder bordering it on one side.

"This is your domain?" He asked, looking up at the trees and their dancing leaves.

"Most of the animals are hiding from the wind," she told him, placing her hand on a tree trunk. She listened to its heartbeat in her fingers, accompanied by the swifter beating of five much smaller hearts – a family of rabbits, burrowed among its roots.

"So, you're a druid, huh?" he said, watching her with interest.

"A what?" she asked, distracted from the rabbits' tree.

"A druid. You know – protector of nature, friend of wild creatures...shifter of forms." He said the last pointedly, and she could tell that the West Harbor villagers had told him of her shape-shifting. "Have you really never heard about druids?"

"No, I haven't. But the description does sound familiar." She smiled. "Maybe I should become one."

"Maybe," he said, then looked to her hand, still pressed to the bark of the tree. "Can you really talk to animals?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, and smiled. "Watch."

She sent her mind into the tree and through its roots, to the family of rabbits. She knelt by the entrance to their den and scooped the creature into her arms as he came out to answer her request. Standing up, she held the rabbit close to her chest, and he pressed his head into her to escape the fierceness of the wind.

"Wow," said Elias, watching with eyes wide. "I'd heard of this, but I've never seen..." he trailed off as she took his hand and gently placed it on the rabbit's back. His hand felt good in hers, natural, as if it was meant to be there all along. They stood together in the clearing, the rabbit between them, his tiny heart thumping steadily against their joined palms.

Elias never left for Neverwinter.

* * *

It was a strange time of year for her, when the trees were bare and lifeless and the creatures of the forest had locked themselves away to escape the cold. Before the wondrous beauty of snow set in, before hardy creatures that thrived in winter came out to meet the white landscape, the wilderness was silent, cold, and empty. There was no color or life in this in-between time, and it had always been her least favorite time of year. This year, however, was different. The creatures of the forest were hiding away, the trees and ground were bare, but at the moment she didn't mind so much – there was something even better waiting for her indoors. The wilderness could take its time in this transition to winter, because this year she didn't need its help to keep her heart warm. This year she had Elias Finn.

There was a fire crackling in the inn's large fireplace, its flames dancing excitedly, sensing the coming of night. The entire village was gathered in the inn to escape the looming cold outside. Mothers cradled infants in their arms while talking animatedly with one another; husbands and fathers shared mugs of mead and hearty laughs while toddlers pulled at their clothing, asking for food. Amie and Bevil sat together at a table in the corner, talking with one another and throwing glances at Laiya, who was curled up on the Buckmans' old yellow couch in front of the fire. Her chin was resting in her hand, her elbow placed on one of the couch's arms. She was not watching the fire jump and sputter about before her, her eyes instead were aimed at a small corner of the room. Heat from the fire licked at her face, painting her with a warm yellow glow both inside and out. Elias' voice washed through her mind and wrapped itself like a blanket around her heart. It was not loud, but still it managed to drown out the merry chatter that filled the room, and it was all that Laiya could hear. The song he was singing was one she remembered all too well: the very first of his she had heard; the one, as she saw it, that had brought them together.

When he finished performing, to cheerful applause from the patrons of the inn, he came to sit by Laiya in front of the fire. She moved into him as he sat down, pressing her body against his and lying her head on his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.

"That's my favorite song, you know," she mumbled into his shirt.

"Every time I sing it I remember the first time I saw you. I'd never seen anyone with eyes that color before, like mountain lakes on a moonlight night." He stroked her hair, his touch gentle. "I can't think about anything else."

She smiled, the warmth of the fire and the warmth of his body combining to give her an almost overwhelming sense of comfort and happiness. They sat together for a few moments before he spoke again.

"That song – I want you to have it."

She lifted her head to look at him, skeptical. "Elias, you can't give a person a song," she told him.

"I just did." He grinned that crooked grin she loved so much. "It's yours."

* * *

She woke one morning to find flowers on her beside table. Smiling sleepily, her eyes traced the pink-and-white petals, layered gracefully around a yellow center. These were not easy flowers to find; they were the only ones in the area that bloomed in winter, and grew in a secluded glade about a 20 minute walk from West Harbor. She wondered how much time Elias had spent looking for them. She fingered the smooth, strong stems and decided she'd take Elias out for a walk that day to repay him, somewhere...private.

"You come out here even in winter?" He asked a few hours later, as they crunched through the snow. He was bundled up in layer upon layer of clothing, heavy boots on his feet and a thick wool hat pulled over his head. Laiya, on the other hand, was wearing only one layer of clothing, her feet bare. "Aren't you cold?"

"I don't get cold," she told him matter-of-factly. He raised an eyebrow and wrapped his scarf more tightly around his neck.

They walked for a while through this peaceful white world, their footsteps crunching lightly on the untouched snow and their breath hanging in the chill air. They stopped when they came to the peak of a small hill; the highest bit of land for miles around. Laiya stood perfectly still and took a deep breath of the clean winter air, letting its chill wash through her, splashing her like a bucket of cold, clean water. The sky was whitish-gray, the clouds swirling slowly over the land. The tops of the buildings in West Harbor were just barely visible, nestled amongst the stark white trees and flat marshes buried in snow. In the distance, she could see the peaks of mountains, far away and untouchable.

Elias came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. "It's beautiful," he told her, following her eyes out across the landscape, then bringing his face close to hers and kissing her cheek. 'You're beautiful."

She placed her hands on top of his and looked north, toward where she knew the great city of Neverwinter to be.

"Whatever happened to your trip to Neverwinter?" she asked him. "Don't you still want to travel there?"

He turned her around to face him, pulling her gaze from the distant horizon. He took her face in his hands and his piercing green eyes looked into her blue ones.

"I'm finding West Harbor far more...attractive...than I ever imagined Neverwinter could be." He brushed a strand of hair back from her face. "I'm lucky I stopped here. I wouldn't want it to have happened any other way."

"Perhaps it was fate that brought you here," she said. "Maybe we're supposed to be together."

"Fate may have brought me here, but it was love that kept me."

Her heart swelled. She couldn't think of anything to say, but that didn't matter because she knew what to do. Placing her hands on the sides of his head, she pulled his lips to hers.

They kissed for a long time on that hill, standing at the peak of the only world she had ever known. Their bodies were pressed together, enveloping one another in an eternal embrace. And Laiya knew that she had slipped off of the shelf she had been living on her entire life, out of her place as nothing more than the wild girl of West Harbor. She was falling, falling away from that stale existence, not towards the earth below where she would be crushed on impact, but instead towards something much more powerful, something that pulled her with a gravity a thousand times greater than that of the earth. She was falling towards Elias – falling through him, falling into him. As flakes of snow began to swirl around them, wetting their skin and dusting their hair, all she knew was that fall; and it was the most beautiful sensation she had ever experienced.

She was whole.


	3. Beginnings

The High Harvest Fair – a celebration of the harvest and an opportunity for the villagers of West Harbor – and some others, mostly from the outlying farms – to worship their various gods. Directed mostly at Chauntea, the Earthmother, this fair gave the people a chance to send her their thanks in years of plenty, and to ask for her blessing in years of hardship. Held at the end of summer, when the heavy heat had just started to loosen its grip on the village, and already a hint of autumn had found its was into the air, it was also the perfect opportunity for the villagers to forget their troubles and simply have a good time. The events held in honor of Chauntea encouraged a spirit of (mostly) friendly competition amongst the younger villagers, and their youthful enthusiasm had everyone else remembering their own blissful years as a child. The atmosphere was always a carefree one, filled with joy and life. The High Harvest Fair was a festival that brought happiness, even if it was only fleeting, to all the villagers of West Harbor.

_Well, _she thought to herself, _not_ all _of the villagers._

Laiya watched quietly as Daeghun stared into the fire, lost in thought. The flames cast an eerie orange glow that danced across his features, without pattern or any sort of rhythm to their flickering movement, but mesmerizing all the same. His eyes were shadowed, his mouth pulled into a tight frown. Something about his expression and the way the fire lit his face made him look centuries older than he really was. His face looked lined, and his gaze held all the sorrow of someone who had seen more than their fair share of pain and loss. Someone who had lived far longer than their age implied.

Laiya's brow was creased, her gaze locked intently on Daeghun's face. She knew that the High Harvest Fair held horrible memories for him, memories of the day that had brought so much horror and death upon the village of West Harbor. She had been but an infant, so she held no memories of that time, but she knew that it was the day she and Amie had been orphaned, and she knew that Daeghun's memories of that day had haunted him ever since. He had never talked to her about it, however, so she could only guess as to what it was that had infected him with so much sadness. Too much sadness, she thought, for a day devoted to being merry.

"Father," she greeted him softly, pushing the worry from her eyes and forcing a smile onto her lips.

At her voice, he lifted his head sharply, and she could almost see his mind snapping back from its reverie. He let out a deep breath and turned to her, the pained expression on his face fading quickly into his usual stoic mask. When he spoke, his words were sharp and straightforward. He had never been one to dance around the point.

"Ah, you're awake and, I suppose, anxious to get to the fair. I do have a favor to ask of you, however." He walked past her, over to a small chest that sat against one wall of their small dwelling. Opening it, he pulled out a bundle of fur, then brought it to her and placed it in her arms. "The merchant, Galen, is in town today. He should have a Duskwood bow to trade for these. Trade with him, then bring me the bow. I'd do it myself, but I am _required_ to oversee the archery competition for the fair. I'll be in the archery field, so you know where to find me." With that, he strode out the front door and was gone.

Laiya looked down at the bundle of fur in her arms and sighed. She knew that hunting other animals was a natural part of life, but she had never really liked the idea, and she hated to see the creatures of the forest being hunted and killed, especially by those close to her. But she would do as Daeghun asked; he was her foster-father, after all, and he meant the forest no harm. She carefully stuffed the furs into her pack and followed him out the door.

It was a beautiful late-summer's day. The sun was shining brightly on the small village of West Harbor. The air was warm but not too hot, with a gentle breeze brushing past to keep the temperature in check. The trees were heavy with lush, green leaves, the earth soft and ripe beneath her feet. The scent of the upcoming harvest was thick on the air, ripe fruits and vegetables lending their tempting aromas to the sounds and smells of celebration that wafted throughout the village. Laiya gently closed the door behind her, and, seeing Amie and Bevil waving to her from the bridge up ahead, made off towards them.

As she stepped forward toward the center of West Harbor, a hand wrapped around her wrist. She was pulled back, and, giggling, she spun into the embrace of her lover.

"Hey there, beautiful," Elias greeted her with a grin, his ever-cheerful demeanor lightening her spirits dramatically, to the point where she felt as if nothing in all of Toril could ever go wrong, or be wrong, or have any sort of wrongness associated with it in any way at all. He was her own personal sun, there whenever she needed him, always able to make everything and anything better. Life was wonderful when Elias was around.

She responded to his greeting by wrapping her hands in his hair and pulling his lips to hers. His arms found their way around her waist and pulled her to him, holding her tightly against his body as he returned her kiss. He kissed her tenderly, lovingly, as if she were the most precious thing in the world. His kisses held nothing back; he gave all of himself to her, with such willingness that she couldn't help but take it eagerly. They were as one being, so close together, letting their very spirits melt into one another. At least, that was the way Laiya felt whenever she kissed him.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Amie and Bevil looking pointedly away. Grinning widely against Elias' mouth, she gave him one last peck, then pulled reluctantly away. He kept his arms around her, holding her close, and her hands trailed down from his hair to dance along the back of his neck.

"Amie and Bevil are waiting for me," she said, and rolled her eyes, only half-jokingly. "I should probably go."

"Of course. You wouldn't want to disappoint." He said this, but didn't loosen his hold on her. "You'll do great, you know. I've seen you train. The Mossfelds won't stand a chance." He pulled one hand from around her waist to place it on her face, gently stroking her cheek. Her skin tingled where he touched her, and she failed to keep herself from giving him another short kiss.

She had, in fact, trained much harder this year than she ever had before. She wasn't sure what it was that drove her – perhaps it was because this was the last year she would be allowed to compete for the Harvest Cup. Although at 24, she was no longer considered a child, the cutoff for competing at the Harvest Fair wasn't until 25. This was probably because the young adults got just as much (or more) fun out of the competition as the children, not to mention the fact that they always seemed to put on a better show. Laiya had always wanted to beat the Mossfelds in the Harvest Brawl, and this was the last chance she would have. It seemed easier for her to train this year; she was able to put more energy and enthusiasm into it than usual. She attributed this to her overall feelings of happiness in her life at the time. Elias' constant praise and cheering from the sidelines couldn't have hurt, either.

"Listen, Laiya." Elias slid his hand down to her chin, his touch leaving a trail of singing pleasure along her jawline. "I'd love to watch you against the Mossfelds. I'll be performing near the stage, if you'd like to come find me before you face them."

She loved that he wanted to watch her in the Harvest Brawl against her childhood foes. She loved that he supported her. She loved that he believed in her. She loved that his fingers were now trailing their way down her throat. Hells, she loved _him._

"Of course," was her simple reply.

"And then, there's one more thing." She listened to him with her hands resting peacefully on his shoulders, enjoying the sensation of his musical voice flowing over her. "I've planned a bit of a performance after the Cup's been won. By you, I'm sure." He grinned his crooked grin at her, and her heart swelled.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," she cut in, not giving him the chance to finish his line of thought. But he didn't need to; she knew him well enough to guess his words.

His smile grew wider, and he wrapped his hand around the back of her neck to pull her into another kiss. This one was lingering, the light brush of his lips against hers sending streaks of lightning through her spine. He pulled away then, gently disentangling himself from her. "Go win yourself that Cup, then," he said, and sent her off toward her two waiting friends.

* * *

As the three of them made their way into the village square, Laiya noticed that Georg was deep in a whispered conversation with Orlen, the voice of the town's farmers. She couldn't make out what they were saying, but was surprised to note that, as Georg saw them approaching, he quickly waved the farmer off, ending their conversation.

Georg was the leader of the West Harbor Militia. He sported a shiny bald head and a cheerful demeanor. His face was vaguely lined, hinting at his middle-aged status, but the constant twinkle in his brown eyes scoffed at anyone willing to suggest his true age. His expression was usually friendly, though as his students, both Laiya and Bevil knew that he could be tough when need be, and he took his job very seriously.

"Aha!" he called to them cheerfully as they approached. "Two of my most promising students – it's good to see you! And you too, Miss Fern! I suppose you three are here to sign up for the Fair?"

"Yep, that's right, Georg." Bevil chimed in cheerfully.

"What was it you were talking to Orlen about?" Laiya asked, curious.

"Oh, that? It's nothing important," he said, a hint of nervousness in his tone. "At least nothing you should be worrying your heads about right now. There's a Cup to be had!"

Laiya wasn't thrown off so easily. "Georg," she said seriously, "if there's something going on, I'd like to know."

"I, well..." Georg was obviously struggling with whether or not to tell them. "It's nothing we haven't dealt with before." He grinned half-heartedly at them. "It's just that the crops this year, they've been...well, difficult. Like there's some sort of blight. And we can't figure out what's causing it."

"I've noticed that," Laiya cut in. "The plants in the forest are having a hard time growing, too. It's like they're being oppressed somehow." She mused, half to herself, "The animals are acting strange as well. They're scattering, fleeing the Mere. When I ask about it, they won't – or can't – explain. All I know is that they're scared."

Georg was watching her with an odd look on his face. "You always were a strange one, Laiya." He stared at her for a second, then, realizing what he had just said, hastily added, "I mean that in the best possible way, of course. It's not every town that has someone to tell them what the animals are thinking! But that –" his tone was more serious now, "that is strange. I'll have to mention it to the village council. They'll want to know that it's not just our crops that are being affected."

"But come now!" His cheery face was back, and his voice was once again filled with unabashed friendliness. "You all didn't come here to chat about hard times, you came to win that Harvest Cup! The rules are the same as they've always been," he continued, "so you shouldn't have a problem there. You still have to win three events to win the Cup, but this year, we've added an extra event – we call it the Knaves' Challenge. Not sure why we'd have a challenge that encourages kids to be thieves and bandits, but I suppose the village council knows best. The other events are the same – the archery competition, the Tourney of Talent, and of course, the Harvest Brawl. The Mossfelds will be hard to beat in that one, but you two –" he nodded at Bevil and Laiya, "have been progressing so rapidly over the last year that I wouldn't put it past you." He grinned proudly at them. "And of course, with Amie in your team, the Tourney of Talent is already yours." Amie blushed at his praise.

"Alright, Georg, that should be enough to get us started," said Laiya, eager to start in the competition. "Wish us luck!"

"Good luck, you three!" he complied, waving them cheerfully on their way.

"I didn't realize that the farmers were having trouble this year," Amie commented as they made their way through the village. "I guess I spend so much time studying with Tarmas, practicing my spells, I don't really get the chance to talk to many of them."

"You need to get out more," teased Laiya, "fresh air actually _can _be good for you, you know."

"That's probably why the Fair's so big this year," Bevil interjected, "The farmers are using this opportunity to pray to Chauntea. They need her to help cure their crops."

"It would make sense," mused Amie.

"Well, well, well." A drawling voice cut off their conversation. "Look here, brothers, it's a little group of nobodies thinking they're gonna win the Harvest Brawl." Wyl Mossfeld laughed pointedly at them, and his two brothers, followers that they were, joined in.

"Shove off, Wyl. You'll get the chance to meet our fists soon enough." Amie shot at them.

Deciding to pretend as if she hadn't even noticed the Mossfelds taunting them, Laiya led her friends past the fenced arena where the Harvest Brawl was being held. _We'll get to them later, _she thought to herself. _I'd rather get the other events out of the way first._

* * *

Wading through waves of children as they giggled and ran about their feet, the three of them strolled up to a small corral. It was usually used to hold livestock, but had been cleared out to serve as a sort of stage, where competitors for the Tourney of Talent would perform. Bevil's mother, Retta Starling, rushed to them, her face flushed and her hair disheveled. She looked positively relieved to see them.

"Ah, young Amie! I've been waiting for you. The children have been getting restless and my, are they hard to keep in line. Please, if you would be so kind as to give us a show of your magic?"

Laiya could see Amie gulp, her face blanketed with nervousness. "Right..." she said hesitantly.

"Amie, if you're not ready, we can come back later," Laiya said, remembering that Amie had been known to have mild bouts of stage fright. At her words, she noticed that Retta's face tightened and her hands clasped together tightly.

"No – no, I'm ready." Amie took a deep breath, calming her jangling nerves. Laiya watched Retta's expression begin to relax as Amie walked into the corral. The poor woman had been herding children all day, and the stress was showing.

Amie's performance was spectacular, as always. She started out slowly, with a few simple spells, but her stage fright soon dissipated and she was performing as if she were born on the stage. Flashing lights, tricky spells, the whole shebang. Even Laiya and Bevil, who had watched her practice time and time again, were enthralled. When she finally finished, to cheering and raucous applause from her audience, her blond hair was sticking slightly to her forehead, drips of sweat sliding down the sides of her face. She gave an elegant bow, and slipped out of the corral, moving back to Laiya's side.

"That was fantastic, Amie!" Laiya's praise was genuine, enthusiasm radiating from her face. "You really got into it, didn't you?"

Amie smiled sheepishly. "It feels different, having an audience. I mean, apart from just you and Bevil. It's invigorating."

"You really did a spectacular job," Bevil added his compliments. "That was amazing."

"Thanks, guys." Amie was smiling, a hint of blush in her cheeks. "Well, I guess we should move on to the next event, then."

* * *

"You've come to try your skills in the archery competition, I suppose? Well, go ahead and take a bow, then. If you've been paying attention in our lessons, this should prove to be easy enough." Daeghun's greeting was, as always, quick and to the point. Laiya grabbed a bow and a handful of arrows from the barrel behind him. Walking to the line that had been hastily scratched in the dirt, she pulled on the bowstring, testing its resistance. _This should do, _she thought. Notching an arrow, she pulled the string back and lifted the bow in front of her, closing one eye to get a better view of the old bottle that was her target. She took a breath to steady herself, and let the arrow fly.

She watched in annoyance as the arrow zipped past the target, almost an entire hand's-breadth away.

_Focus, Laiya, focus. _She had never had much of an affinity for using a bow, especially when it came to launching arrows quickly. But there was no time limit to this competition, and if she slowed herself down, she should be able to at least hit the targets. Her aim _was _better than the average farm girl. Shaking out her fingers, she pulled back another arrow. Her eyes drifted from the arrow to her target, imagining the path the arrow would take once she released it. She shifted her weight slightly for better stability, and once again, she let the arrow loose.

_Oh, come on! _The arrow just barely nicked the side of the bottle, causing it to wobble slightly, but it did not crack or fall. She knew that in order to count, the bottle had to either break or be knocked off of its small perch.

She could feel a muscle in her jaw clenching tightly, and made a conscious effort to relax it. She was no good at anything when she was tense. She rolled her shoulders back, trying to recall her archery lessons with Daeghun. _"Let the bow guide you," _he had told her, _"let the target draw the arrow to itself. You do not command it, you are simply the vessel that allows it to fly free. Now, focus." _She breathed in deeply, and once again notched an arrow, brought the bow up in front of her, and released the bowstring.

This time, her mark was true. The arrow drove head-on into the bottle, causing it to burst into pieces. This minor explosion somehow felt very satisfying.

Some of her confidence returned, she was able to shoot arrows into seven of the other targets, before she ran out of ammo. Satisfied with her performance, she turned to Daeghun, who had been watching her intently the entire time.

"Well done, Laiya. You hit eight out of ten targets, earning the highest score yet. As I believe everyone who is going to compete has done so already, this means that you have also won the archery competition." He gave a little nod – his way of acknowledging the accomplishment. "Oh, and don't forget to trade with Galen."

"Right, father." Laiya gritted her teeth. She wished her foster father could be a little friendlier sometimes. But she did as he said and set off to finish his errand.

She remembered the merchant Galen from the few times he had visited West Harbor before. The last time she saw him, he had been talking to Daeghun as she and Elias slipped off into the Mere. What she remembered more vividly, however, is the way his cart had blocked her escape route when she had confronted the Mossfelds for the very last time (aside from the Harvest Brawl), almost seven years before. She smirked slightly at the memory. Ironic as it was, being trapped there had been the very thing that gave her the chance to finally put a halt the Mossfelds' attacks.

Galen was a rather old fellow, with graying hair and wide-set, almost crazy-looking eyes. She found him in the center of the village. Flanked by two irritated-looking mercenaries, Galen the merchant stood in front of a small, hastily constructed tent. She told Amie and Bevil to wait for her, and approached the man.

"Hello, Galen." She smiled politely at him. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw one of the mercenaries scowl at her. The other eyed her hungrily and licked his lips in a manner that made her skin crawl. "I'm here to make a trade with you. I believe you have a bow for my father?" she was anxious to get away from those men.

"Ah, yes. Daeghun's charge. I remember you." She could tell he didn't. "Do you have the furs that Daeghun promised me?"

"Of course." She pulled the furs out of her pack, trying to ignore the mercenaries, the first of which had just spit on the ground disgustingly close to where she was standing. She quickly exchanged the furs for a pretty-looking bow, and left as soon as she was able. At least the merchant had some sort of decency, though he was less than friendly. But those mercenaries...she didn't really think they should be allowed in the village.

"Alright," she said as she joined up with her friends once again, "two events down, two to go."

* * *

Amie's mentor, Tarmas, was a gloomy-looking man who was known for being dismal and sarcastic. He was standing in front of a small tent, watching the village children with annoyance in his eyes.

"Like ants, they are," he said as Laiya and her two friends approached, "No matter how often you try to scare them away, or how well you think you've done just that, they'll always come back, stronger and more irritating than before."

"Hello, Tarmas," Amie greeted him, trying to be friendly.

"Yes, yes." He waved away her cheerfulness like it was some sickly-sweet smell that stung his nose. "I suppose you're here for the Knaves' Challenge, aren't you? _Unfortunately,_" the word was dripping with sarcasm, "I don't think any of you have the skills required to compete. Unless all these years you've been hiding your ability to pick pockets and break locks? If you want to compete in the Challenge, I'd recommend finding someone who actually knows what they're doing."

"Right," Laiya said. She had never really liked Tarmas, what with his mordant comments and perpetual air of discontentment. But Amie had told her that he really was a good person, underneath, so she put up with him. She trusted Amie's judgment.

"But I suppose you'd like to hear the rhyme, anyway?" Tarmas continued, ignoring the resentment in her tone.

"What rhyme?" she asked, interested.

"I'll show you. _Ahem._

_I've hidden three feathers, scattered them wide,  
Placed white in a box, and locked it inside.  
Blue followed termite-tracks, down where they ran,  
Green in the pocket of same-colored man."_

"Hey, that's a nice rhyme, Tarmas!" Amie said.

"Well, at least _someone _appreciates me. Thank goodness for my apprentice."

"So we're supposed to find three feathers?" Laiya asked, still sorting out the rhyme in her head.

"Looks like it," said Bevil. "One in a locked box, one near something that would attract termites..."

"And another in the pocket of someone dressed in green," concluded Amie.

"Sounds simple enough, except we still need someone who can actually _get _them." Laiya pointed out.

"How about Kipp?" Amie asked, pointing to a small, dirt-covered child lurking behind Tarmas' tent. "He's always sneaking around, and I know for a fact he's stolen things from Tarmas before." She frowned slightly. "Which isn't really a good thing, I guess, but it might mean he can help us."

"Hey, Kipp!" Laiya called to the boy, walking over to him.

"Whatever it is, I ain't done it," he shifted away from them as they approached. "It was prob'ly li'l Joe. He's always snatchin' things out from under people's noses."

Laiya rolled her eyes. "We're not here to get you in trouble. We've heard you make a pretty good thief, and we were wondering if you'd like to join our team to help us with the Knaves' Challenge."

"The Knaves' Challenge? I can do that. I've been watchin' those kids tryin' to find them feathers all day now, and they're doin' it all wrong. Heh." He chuckled softly to himself. "I'll get them feathers for you." Without another word, he set off in the direction of a large pile of firewood. Amie, Bevil, and Laiya exchanged a glance, shrugged, and followed, watching with interest as he swiftly and skillfully obtained all three feathers.

* * *

Her bare feet padded lightly in the soft dirt, silent to all but the keenest of ears. Amie and Bevil were helping Mrs. Sholl hand out treats to a pack of squealing children. Two chubby boys with black hair and identical features – the Stephens twins, Ned and Nell – kept trying to come back for seconds. Kipp had completely disappeared. Laiya's attention, however, was fixed on Elias. He was taking a break from his performing to sit on a large, rotting stump, his copper hair glinting lazily in the afternoon sun. She approached him from behind, undetected, and swiftly slipped her hands in front of his eyes.

"Guess who?"

He gently took her hands in his and pulled them away from his eyes as she sat down beside him. He turned towards her and kissed her cheek. "Who?"

"It's me, silly," she said, pushing his shoulder playfully. "After such a long time, I'd have thought you'd be able to recognize me," she teased. "How long's it been, anyway? A year?"

"Almost." He smiled at her, his green eyes sparkling in the sunlight. "Eleven months, I believe."

"Really? It feels like forever." She reached her hand to his head and mussed his hair, then ran her fingers through it to comb it straight again. "Amie and Bevil and I are going to fight the Mossfelds now. You said you wanted to come watch?"

"I most certainly do," he replied. He pushed himself up off the log, then turned and offered his hand to her. She took it and let him pull her to her feet.

"Amie! Bevil!" she called to her two friends. "Are you ready for the Brawl?"

Amie gave her last sweet bun to a small, blonde girl in a blue dress, as Bevil licked sticky syrup from his fingers. Laiya walked over to them, Elias trailing behind.

"As ready as we're going to be, I guess," Amie answered, handing her empty basket back to Mrs. Sholl.

"Thank you so much for your help, you two," the plump, smiling lady said as she took the basket. "I think I would have been suffocated by hungry children if you hadn't been here."

"Not a problem, Mrs. Sholl," Bevil replied, before going back to sucking on his little finger.

"Bevil, maybe you should get a handkerchief instead of slobbering all over your hands," Amie scolded him. He rolled his eyes at her, but pulled a cloth out from his pocket and rubbed his still-sticky hand on it vigorously. Elias chuckled in amusement.

"C'mon, let's go!" Laiya urged. She was excited about the Brawl this year – for the first time, she actually felt good about their chances. Taking Elias' hand and smiling widely, she led them all toward the center of the village, almost dancing as she went.

* * *

She twirled her club in her hands impatiently as Brother Merring prattled on about the rules of the Brawl. They'd been competing in this Brawl since they were little tykes: she'd think they'd know the rules by now. She rolled her eyes as Merring looked directly at herself, then at Amie, saying something about no magic, tricks, or other various funny businesses. Since she had discovered her shapeshifting ability, she had occasionally gotten so worked up in the Brawl while fighting the Mossfelds that she had taken on the shape of some big, terrifying animal just to scare them. And last year, Amie had unleashed a rather nasty spell, causing a sort of blue fuzz to grow over the Mossfelds' skin, itching terribly and rendering their complexions the color of blueberries until Tarmas was called upon to dispel the magic. It wasn't that they entered the Brawl with the intention of breaking the rules, but their fighting styles were so dependent on magic that sometimes they forgot to reign it in. Bevil, on the other hand, had never broken the rules of the Brawl: partly because he didn't need magic to fight his best; partly because fair play was very important to him. Every time she or Amie had made the mistake of using magic, he had looked so surprised and confused, as if the fact that those rules were in place made it impossible for them to be broken. This year, though, Laiya was determined to play fair. This year they needed to win.

The practice clubs they had been given were short, with a cushioned layer that absorbed most of the impact from any hit. In layman's terms, they were pretty useless. A fist could do more damage. She held on to hers, though, hoping that it would still come in handy, as she and her two friends faced off against the Mossfelds from across the fighting ring.

"And I expect a clean fight from all of you," Merring finished, looking at the Mossfelds. They had been know to be brutal with their blows, taking every chance they could to beat up their opponents, way past what was necessary for a win. "Now, if you're ready," he looked around at the contestants, receiving nods of confirmation from everyone, "you may begin!"

The Mossfelds charged.

She barely had time to think as Ward lunged for her legs. She kicked out at him, managing to hit his shoulder as it came towards her, but tangling her feet in the process. She stumbled, catching the fence with her free hand to keep herself from falling. Ward had been thrown off when she kicked him, but not hurt, and he came back at her: more cautiously, this time, but still eager to fight. He swung a his club wildly in her direction, which she swiftly ducked under, moving behind him in the process. As he spun to face her, she made an attempt to grab his arms, locking on to his wrists. She yanked him in close, aiming a knee towards his gut. It hit its mark squarely. He keeled over, dropping his club, but grabbing her hair at the same time and pulling her head down.

She saw it only a second before she felt it: a knee rushing towards her face, mirroring her own move. The impact was enough to make her stumble backwards, her vision blurred. She tore herself from his grip, ripping out some hair in the process, and backed into the fence behind her, latching onto it for support. She could taste blood in her mouth. Her lower lip stung fiercely as she licked it, but at least she couldn't feel any loose teeth.

Unfortunately, she was now cornered; trapped between Ward and the fence. She had about a second to think as Ward bent to pick his club off the ground. Once again he lunged for her, this time aiming for her head. She pulled her heel up behind her, bracing her foot against the fence. As he drew close, she pushed off as hard as she could and pulled her club close, tucking her body and rolling underneath his outstretched arm. She didn't aim her roll very well, though; she barreled straight into the adjoining fence segment, bashing her shins against the hard wood.

That _hurt._

Pain shot up her legs. She dropped her club and clutched them to her chest. She remained curled on the ground, letting the fence support her back. Ward had crashed into the fence as he lunged for her and had managed to fall to the ground.

_Well that's good, at least._

She figured she should take advantage of the situation while she had the chance. Doing her best to ignore the pain in her shins, she rose to her feet and threw herself at Ward as he struggled to pull himself back up. She landed on top of him, forcing him – and herself – back to the ground. They both collided with the fence and began struggling violently with one another. She had her hands on his shoulders, the fabric of his shirt clutched tightly within them; he was beating his club against her back fruitlessly. But he was stronger than her, and before she knew it her back was to the ground and Ward was on top of her, his club pressing, unforgiving, against her windpipe.

She choked; coughed; pulled for air. Her fingers scratched at his arms and face, but to no avail. He was winning. Hells, he had already won.

"No, Laiya! Come on, get up! Hit him!" A familiar, musical voice shouted somewhere above her. She looked past Ward's triumphant face and saw, swimming in her vision, a handsome man with coppery-brown hair and startling green eyes.

_Elias._

"Use your knees! You can win this!"

She obeyed.

Mustering her strength as best she could with the little oxygen she had left, she rammed a knee straight into Ward's backside. Then she threw the other knee. One, then the other, and finally, she managed to push him off her, sucking in a huge breath of air.

Ward was taken by surprise and, mostly because of that, she was able to switch their positions, rolling him underneath her. She grabbed his wrist with her hand so he couldn't hit her with his club. She pulled her right fist back as far a she could, then let it fly downward, hitting him straight in the face. She felt something crunch beneath her knuckles.

But Ward wasn't about to give up. He struggled viciously, trying to push her off of him.

So she threw a second punch.

Three.

Four.

"Argh! Fine, alright, I yield! I yield!" he yelped – finally – as she pulled her arm back to hit him a fifth time. His nose was bleeding fiercely, the deep red liquid running into his mouth and eyes and splattering the ground beneath his head. She lowered her hand and unclenched her fist, rising to her feet to let him off the ground. He quickly scrambled out of the ring, clutching at his face as he went.

"Nice one, Laiya. That was fantastic!" Elias threw her a heart-stopping grin. She smiled back.

Laiya then looked across the ring to gauge how the rest of the fight was going. Bevil and Webb were dueling it out with their clubs in the opposite corner of the ring, and Bevil was pretty obviously winning. Of the three brothers, Webb was the least vicious, the least violent, and also the weakest in a fight.

When she turned her gaze to the center of the ring, her heart froze. Down on the ground, her arms over her face, shouting her resignation, was Amie; cuts and bruises blossoming across her skin. Standing over her was Wyl Mossfeld. He kicked her in the side. Hard. Then he kicked her again. And again. And again.

Laiya felt a fiery rage burst inside her. Without thinking, without pausing so much as to pick up the club from the ground at her feet, she ran towards Wyl. She launched herself into the air and latched furiously onto him from behind. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her arm twined itself around his neck. She grabbed her hand with the other, and she pulled.

She seemed to have successfully diverted Wyl's attention from Amie. He grabbed her arm with both hands (he seemed to have already discarded his club) and attempted to pull her off his neck. There was fury behind her strength, though, and his efforts were in vain. He stumbled backwards, and was able to find the fence behind them. He then began to repeatedly smash her against the topmost rail. It was a low fence, however, and the rail was barely able to hit her hips. The impact caused her legs to lose their hold around Wyl's waist, but her arm remained fastened around his neck. If anything, there was now more weight crushing his throat.

But her victory couldn't last forever. Wyl once again threw the both of them against the fence, and this time, the wood caught her heel and twisted violently in a direction that it was most certainly not supposed to go. She heard a cracking noise, and gasped as an intense, burning pain shot through her. She let go.

Wyl turned as she crumpled against the fence, a gleaming smile now spreading across his face. There was a wicked look in his eye. He swung his leg back, preparing for a powerful kick.

And then fell as a club whacked him solidly across the back of the head. He landed on the fence beside Laiya, hitting his head once again on its hard wood, then crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

"Laiya, are you OK?" Bevil asked, kneeling down to help her up.

"Yeah, I – I think I twisted my ankle, is all," she replied, clutching the offending joint. It hurt like the Nine Hells. She glanced out of the ring to see Brother Merring tending to Amie's wounds, Ward sitting beside him and massaging his newly-healed nose, and Webb waiting his turn for healing, clutching his side and wincing. "Nice club work," Laiya complimented Bevil as she put her arm around his shoulders. "You really saved my skin."

"It was nothing," he said, smiling sheepishly. "Lucky shot, is all."

"Yeah, well, thanks," she said, letting him hoist her back up to her feet and lead her out of the ring.

* * *

Laiya had no idea how they had managed to pull it off. The Mossfelds had won the Harvest Cup three years in a row, but somehow this year she and her friends had not only won the Cup, but won every single event there was to compete in. Maybe they were just lucky that they had been able to recruit Kipp to participate in the Knaves' Challenge for them. Perhaps the feeling of happiness that had prevailed in her life recently had somehow endowed her with a new sort of vigor, allowing her to tackle each challenge with more strength than she had thought possible. She was sure that Elias, cheering her on during the Harvest Brawl, had been a factor in the Mossfelds' defeat. He had filled her with a strange feeling: a firm belief that she could – and would – accomplish anything and everything she tried. Perhaps it was this feeling that had glued the ridiculous smile to her face all day long. And she knew that there was nothing in this plane or the next that could make her any happier.

She watched joyfully as Bevil accepted the Harvest Cup for the three of them. He looked strange up on the stage, in front of a crowd – awkward, like he didn't belong. Usually he would do his best to stay out of the center of attention. Today, though, he took the cup happily, smiling at the villagers below. The excitement and happiness of the day seemed to have washed away his characteristic timidity.

"And because you three have managed to win every single event in the Fair, you've also won a bonus prize!" Georg exclaimed as he presented them with a bundle of shimmering green cloth.

Bevil had his hands full with the Harvest Cup, so Amie stepped forward to take the bundle. As she lifted it, it slid through her fingers to fall toward the ground, revealing a long cloak, as green as leaves on a sunny summer day. It was a beautiful cloak; the fabric looked soft and shimmered slightly in the dwindling sunlight. A small iron clasp, fashioned in the shape of a maple leaf, held it together in front.

"This is the Harvest Cloak," Georg continued, "Made by some of the finest craftsmen in West Harbor, and the best we have to offer. Beautiful, isn't it?"

"It's marvelous," Amie agreed. Laiya could see the glee in her eyes as she took in the shimmering fabric. "Here, Amie." Laiya took the cloak from her hands and pulled it around her friend's shoulders, fixing the clasp in front. The fabric was as soft as it looked and flowed smoothly through her hands.

"It looks great on you, Amie," she said, as the three friends made their way down from the stage to mingle with the rest of the crowd. She wasn't lying. The green fabric added class to Amie's figure, somehow making her look regal, important. It really was a beautiful cloak.

"And now, ladies and gents," came a beautifully musical voice from the stage they had just left. Laiya looked up to see Elias addressing the crowd. She hadn't even noticed Georg leaving the stage. "I've got something special to sing tonight. A perfect way to end a beautiful day, or so that was my plan." He smiled charismatically at the audience as he pulled his lute into his arms. "This song is dedicated to the most wonderful person I have ever met. Or ever will meet," he added, winking at Laiya, who was watching him happily. "You know who you are."

As did everyone else in the village. Laiya blushed as all eyes turned toward her. Romances in West Harbor simply could not be kept secret. Period. She was not the center of attention for long, though. As Elias began to play, the crowd turned their attention back to him.

A low, resounding note sounded from Elias' lute.

"_A year from now_,"

Another note, soft and mellow.

"_Five years from now_,"

Once more he played a single note, letting this one vibrate in the air for a few seconds before continuing.

"_I don't know where I'll be._"

A few more notes, and now his fingers began to dance across the lute, fluttering swiftly like butterflies in a sunny meadow. She always became entranced with their movement when she watched him play. This time was no different.

"_When I try to envision  
Where my life will lead  
The picture is fuzzy  
The people unseen_

_But there's one thing for certain  
There is one thing I know  
Your face stands out beautifully, clearly  
Your eyes latched on me, all aglow_

_Forever is a long time  
But I believe  
With you, forever will be  
The greatest gift I could ever receive_

_So I pray in the future  
Together we will be  
For as long as forever_,"

Here he stopped and looked Laiya straight in the eyes. His own eyes shone brilliantly green as they pierced every inch of her being. He let the music fade into the air around them before continuing, these last few notes hitting the air like magic, their sound so beautiful that Laiya felt she might begin to weep. How did he do that? But her musing was wiped from her mind along with everything else as she heard the last few words of his song.

"_Laiya, will you marry me?_"

Her eyes grew wide, and tears really did start to grow in them as she looked at him in wonder and amazement. Then, before she knew what she was doing, she was on the stage with her arms wrapped around his neck and her lips on his. She pulled him in close to her, crushing the lute between their bodies, and was vaguely aware of cheering in the background.

Elias pulled his face gently away from hers. He was smiling, his eyes alight with happiness.

"I guess I'll take that as a yes."

"Yes!" she exclaimed, finally finding her voice. "Yes, yes, a thousand times, yes!"

Elias pulled his lute from between them and brought his hand up in front of her. Resting in its palm and glinting in the light of the setting sun, was a beautiful silver ring, with a dark blue gem woven into its front. She gasped in delight.

"It's a sapphire," he said, gently taking her hand and slipping the ring onto her finger. "The color of your eyes." He turned her hand so the sunlight could play against the gem. It went from pitch black in the shadows to a brilliant, deep blue in the light. His gaze then slid up into her eyes.

She pulled him in as close as she possibly could, and once again locked her lips with his.

* * *

The river sparkled in the moonlight, casting silvery drops of light across their faces as they sat together on the shore. Laiya's hand rested in his, the sapphire in her ring as black as the night sky above them. A chill wind whistled past them, rustling the long grass that grew all around. She shivered, inching closer to him in order to keep warm. They had been sitting in silence for what must have been hours but seemed like minutes, watching the sunset, then the stars, and simple enjoying one another's company.

"I love you, Laiya," Elias finally spoke, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. "I love you more than life itself. And that's saying something." She could almost feel the smile that spread across his lips.

"I love you too."

Silence settled in again. Was it for hours? Minutes? She couldn't tell.

"What are we going to do next, Elias?" she asked, turning her face towards him. "Where are we going to go?"

"Where do you want to go?" he replied.

She thought about that for a moment. They could go anywhere, really. Anywhere they wanted.

"I've always been interested in going to Neverwinter. Maybe we could travel there together? And then, after that...I don't know. All over Toril, I suppose. There's so much I want to see and do."

"I'll make sure you get to do all of it," he said, and kissed her gently on the forehead. Then on the lips. She fell into his embrace, pulling him close, and instinctively reached for the buttons on his shirt. She pulled away the cloth with little patience, stopping only to let him pull her shirt over her head, then laying her hands on his pale chest. He placed the back of his fingers at the base of her neck and trailed them down between her breasts, tracing the moonlit white scar that was etched between them. He then replaced his fingers with his lips, kissing her chest, her throat, her breasts, and causing her to tilt her head back towards the night sky in pleasure.

Beneath the twinkling stars and the crescent moon above, next to the shimmering water of a winding river, with an engagement ring on her finger and a beautiful future ahead of them, they made beautiful, passionate love.

* * *

It was well past midnight when Laiya finally made her way back to the house she shared with Daeghun. She would have been more than willing to spend the night right there on the shore with her beloved in her arms, but Elias had insisted that she get some proper rest. In a bed. So it was that she slipped under the blankets in the small room that she had lived in for as long as she could remember, and fell asleep to dreams of undiscovered worlds and unbounded love, her and Elias holding hands as they forged a path to the great city of Neverwinter.

Together.


	4. Turned to Stone

She blinked lazily in the darkness, letting her eyes adjust slowly from the brilliantly bright world that was her dream. A face swam into view: brown hair, blue eyes; a childish face, younger than it really was; plump lips moving rapidly, silently above her. She squeezed her pillow tightly to the side of her face, enjoying the familiar warmth and comfort, and took a deep breath of air from the waking world. She noticed a smile on her lips, but didn't know why it was there or where it had come from. Was there a reason she felt so happy? She didn't know. That was OK; she liked the feeling.

"Laiya? Laiya, are you awake? Can you hear me? Are you OK?" Bevil's voice poked through her drowsy consciousness like a toothpick through cheese. Was she OK? Of course she was OK, she was fantastic. Sure, she didn't know why, but that really didn't matter. Couldn't he see the joy dancing around in her head? Maybe not. No, he couldn't, she remembered vaguely. Humans can't feel the emotions of other creatures. Neither can elves. Or dwarves. Or gnomes, for that matter. Yes, it was all coming back to her.

Her smile tickled her face, so she rubbed it against the pillow.

"Laiya! Get up, Laiya!" A different voice, lighter, also familiar. There were hands on her shoulders: pulling her; shaking her. She didn't like it. She wanted them to go away, to stop. She turned her face into her pillow.

"Laiya, we're under attack! West Harbor is under attack!"

Those were not good words. She didn't like those words. She tried to push them out of her mind, putting up a dark, solid wall to keep them away. So they wouldn't bother her anymore.

_No, Laiya. Listen. This is important._

Grudgingly, she pulled down the wall in her mind, taking her face out of her pillow and herding the sleep out of her head. She had to listen. She had to wake up. And slowly, slowly, the words sank in. Her eyes grew wide, and with a sudden burst of wakefulness she pushed herself up: off of her pillow, out of her drowsy reverie.

"_What?!_" Her eyes latched fiercely on Bevil, her mind racing. "What did you just say?"

"Wow, Laiya. You take _waaay_ too long to wake up." Amie muttered to herself in the background.

"We don't know how it happened," Bevil continued, either not noticing Amie's comment or pretending not to notice it. "We don't know why. But there are gray dwarves and strange spiked creatures – they showed up in the middle of the night and they attacked everyone and right now they're hacking the village to pieces!" There was panic on his face: unrestrained, unveiled panic, accompanied by the slightest biting hint of fear.

And she remembered.

Jarred into motion by the shock of Bevil's news, her mind started spewing forth memories of the day before, churning them wildly through her head. Winning the Harvest Cup; the Brawl; Elias' song; his proposal; her ring; watching the sunset on the bank of a glittering river. Dreaming of the future...

And here she had thought she was going to live happily ever after.

_Could the world really be so cruel?_

"Wha- what do we do now?" She sputtered, searching her friends' faces for answers, at the same time running her fingers worriedly over the sapphire in her ring.

_Is Elias alright?_

"We fight," Amie said, her light brown eyes glinting with determination; with a strange fire that Laiya had never known was there.

It was at this point that she noticed that both of her friends looked as though they had just come from battle. Bevil was fully clad in chainmail, a sword in his hands. There was something dark and sticky caked on the sword, and for a moment her stomach heaved. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, smelling the tangy, metallic scent of blood. Both of her friend's faces were smeared with dirt and sweat. Amie's was flushed, just as it had been after she completed the Tourney of Talent. This time, however, there was no triumph in her eyes: it had been replaced by a sort of wild determination, like that of a cornered animal. Her hair was coming out of its perpetual pony-tail, blonde wisps flying around her face, and her fingers were crackling with a blue light. She was wearing the Harvest Cloak, but it had been torn almost straight down its center. The tear was clean, as if something sharp had sliced it. Some sharp, deadly weapon, so close to Amie's back...Laiya felt her heart leap into her throat.

"Right, OK. We fight." She sounded just about as sure of herself as she felt. Which was hardly at all. Standing up and moving across the room to rummage through her clothing drawer, she found a long brown shirt and a simple pair of trousers, which she threw on over her underclothes. She had never been very modest, especially in front of her two closest friends: she had spent so much time with the creatures of the forest, and in their various forms, that sometimes she started to think like them. Modesty was a silly thing. But early on in her life she had learned about something called "public indecency," and since then had deemed it worthwhile to wear clothing, if only for the benefit of those around her.

Bevil and Amie were already down the hallway and at the top of the stairs when Laiya stopped them.

"Wait," she said, turning towards her foster-father's room. She knocked on the door tentatively. "Daeghun? Are you there?"

Hearing no response, she gently pushed the door open, only to find that the room was empty.

_Where is he?_

"Laiya, come on!" Bevil shouted at her, the urgency in his voice causing his words to come out rushed, slightly jumbled. "We've got to help defend the village!"

So she followed her friends down the stairs and out her front door, into the first battle West Harbor had seen for well over 20 years. Into a night full of flames.

* * *

Laiya ducked her head as streaks of green shot over her. The magical acid splashed one of the gray dwarves in the eyes, and he began howling terribly, clawing at his face as the very flesh of his rough features began to melt. Another of the creatures leaped onto her back, wrapping its small, strong arms around her neck. She reared onto her hind legs, twisting her body violently to throw him off. He slipped off of her back, arms still locked around her neck, as she sunk her sharp, canine teeth into his throat. The arms let go.

There was blood in her mouth; hot red liquid splattered over her dark fur. The wolf in her liked it: it tasted like dinner. The human was disgusted and wanted to throw up. Luckily, her stomach belonged to the wolf.

Laiya surveyed her surroundings with her sharp, milky-brown eyes. For the moment, there were no dwarves attacking her. Various members of the West Harbor Militia were hacking at the dwarves all around them. Bevil stood a few meters away, cutting down the gray creatures as they swarmed at him like so many angry beetles. Amie was shooting streaks of vicious magic out of her fingers at any dwarf who dared come close to her, which was only a few. Those that did were either very brave or very stupid.

Laiya crouched low to the ground, her muscles rippling underneath her midnight fur. She pushed her limbs into the ground, springing through the air as she launched herself toward the creatures surrounding Bevil. She ducked under his sword as it swung wildly in a circle around him, and grabbed a fleshy gray leg in her jaws. The dwarf shrieked and swung a dagger towards her head. In one smooth motion, she rose above him, blocking his strike with her forearm and hitting him squarely in the jaw with her elbow. She slid her arm along his and wrenched the dagger out of his hand, swiftly turning it and plunging it straight into his small dwarven heart.

She dispatched three more dwarves with the same dagger before the fighting finally dwindled down. She watched as Amie finished off the last of them with a giant burst of flame. The sky was still dark and littered with stars, but even once Amie's spell had died out they were at no loss for light. Fires were burning throughout the village, houses and barns being devoured by flames. The flickering light cast long, ephemeral shadows across the ground: a river of snakes, shifting and sliding through the night.

"Laiya, you're here! I need your help." Georg rushed to her side, breathing heavily. He looked much the same as the rest of them, covered in dirt and blood. The youthful humor in his eyes was gone, replaced by something older, and the single-minded determination to do his job well: to drive these crazy critters out of West Harbor.

"They're coming from over at the Starling farm, to the west. We need to make our stand there; chop them down before they can hit the village full-force." By this time Bevil and Amie had sidled up beside them. "I've got my hands full as it is. I need you three to find anyone and everyone who knows how to fight and bring them to that farm. Got it?" Laiya nodded mutely. "Then I'll meet you at the Starling farm. May the gods bless you."

They hurried across the bridge, the river running dark and murky below them, glowing red in the light of a thousand fires.

And Laiya screamed.

* * *

"_NO!"_ The sound ripped wild and inhuman from her throat. She couldn't see, she couldn't think. Her legs moved like the beating of a humming bird's wings. There was fire in her heart, fire in her lungs, burning her mouth and her eyes.

Burning his house.

Smoldering, flickering briefly before dying out. Black, charred wood, doorways and windows collapsed into themselves. Her feet ripped rivers through the blanket of ash on the floor. Thick smoke stung her nose and mouth, clouding her eyes and aggravating her lungs. The stairs trembled beneath her, violently so, but she didn't care. She couldn't care. There was only one thing that mattered.

She stopped in the doorway. The bedsheets were tangled, thrown off violently, their edges blackened into dust. The bed was tilted on its legs at an odd angle. The bookcase was on its side, various tattered pages strewn across the floor, some burnt, some not. The dresser sported a giant hole through the middle; the rest had been bashed up badly, seeming little more that a few odd chunks of firewood that had been hastily thrown together.

She saw none of this.

He was pressed against the wall, lying on his side, looking small in the broken room and covered in powdery ash, caked across his features like a bizarre enchantment that had somehow gone wrong. His expression was hidden by this thick gray coating, his hair matted with it and singed at the edges. She rushed to him and knelt at his side, pressing her palms against the sides of his face and wiping the ash from his eyes.

"Elias," she whispered to him urgently, "Elias, talk to me." Her fingers swept vigorously across his face, pushing away the hateful gray powder, and she coughed as it flew into her face. She shook his head in her hands, trying to wake him, to get him to open his eyes, or move his mouth, or even just push some air out of his nose so she would have proof that he was breathing. She knew he was breathing, knew it with as much force and desperation as she had ever known anything in her life. Because he had to be breathing. If he wasn't breathing, she wouldn't be here. She wouldn't exist, and neither would the house she was in or the world she had grown up in because he was the center of it all.

"Laiya? Laiya, where are you?" A voice echoed through the building below her, beating weakly at the sides of her head.

"She's here, Bevil. I've found her." A much closer voice sounded behind her. "Laiya, what are you – by the gods –" Then there was another body by her side, surprisingly warm and very alive. Another hand on Elias' face, at the side of his neck. It stayed there, still, and she watched it blindly for a few of the longest moments of her life. Then it lifted itself and drew away, and Amie's soft voice found it's way to Laiya's ear.

"Laiya, I'm so sorry." There was a slight pause, a hesitation in her friend's voice. "He's dead."

Liquid stone then somehow found its way into her body, slid through her veins, and froze, cold and hard within her. Her head wouldn't move, her eyes wouldn't close, and it seemed her heart was refusing to beat. She was not living, was not listening, and yet those two words had managed to slip unwelcome into her mind.

_He's dead._

"Bevil, there's no time." Amie was speaking to someone behind them, someone approaching them. "You go round up the militia. I'll stay and try to get Laiya out of here." Bevil's presence shifted away, slid down the broken stairs and out of the burning house, ever obedient.

"Laiya, we have to leave. This house is going to come down." As she spoke, a flaming chunk of wood came crashing down onto the lopsided bed, as if to verify her statement.

_I won't leave him._ Rock-solid stubbornness resounded through Laiya's mind, but the words never left her lips, for she no longer had a voice. Her eyes were fixed, unmoving, locked on her own frozen hands as they rested on his chest. She saw the ash that lay thick and heavy upon him, saw the dark, sticky circles that decorated the gray monotony, where the soft powder had landed in liquid. Some part of her mind knew what those circles were, knew that they had felt the touch of cold iron not long ago. But that part of her mind was not present with her – it was locked away, blocked from her consciousness by the cold stone wall that had taken over her mind.

"Come on, Laiya, we have to go. There's nothing you can do for him. The village is still under attack and we need your help. Laiya, please." Amie's voice grew desperate as the creaking and snapping above and around them grew louder.

Laiya turned her head and shifted her eyes to her friend's pleading face. There was no way she could explain, no way Amie would ever understand that the rest of the village didn't matter, that it would be OK if the ceiling collapsed onto them. It would make no difference, for they were already dead. West Harbor no longer existed, no longer needed to be saved. But it would be pointless and painful beyond measure to try to tell this to her friend, so instead she stood up and followed Amie out of the burning building, and if there was any part of herself that by some miracle had managed to remain alive, she left it there, left it lying next to the body of the only man she had ever loved.

So it was that she watched in stony silence as Amie ran courageously to aid her teacher, Tarmas – and so it was that she never raised a hand or blinked an eye as Amie was enveloped in magical flames, shot her way by a strange, green-skinned mage. And there was no feeling in her heart nor her head as she unclasped the tattered green cloak from Amie's lifeless shoulders and re-fastened it around her own. Her friend's body was still warm, a combination of the flames that had burnt her and the remnants of the life that had only recently fled.

In some corner of her consciousness, one that had not been fully filled with stone, one that was still somehow connected with the outside world, some part of her that had remained open and receptive is what felt it approach. For a matter of seconds before he attacked, she knew that the creature was coming. She had the full intention to let him come, let him run her through with his sword or one of the many spikes that protruded grotesquely from his body. In fact, she welcomed the attack, welcomed the looming presence of death, for she had nothing left to live for. But it was the same part of her that had sensed it, the same part that had refused to close itself to the world, that part of her also refused to welcome death. So instead of meeting the open back of a young woman lost in her despair, the bladeling was instead greeted by the fierce, deadly claws of a russet-colored bear, who easily tore his head from his body. And this time there was no squeamishness in the human part of her mind, no civilized disgust at the pillars of blood that came shooting out of the creature's decapitated body. The part of her that used to have these feelings – the human that used to dwell within the body of the bear – she was gone.

* * *

In the bear she found peace. As her claws ripped through flesh and her tongue tasted blood, as the cries of the dead and the dying rang through her large, thick skull, she found peace. The bear was free from the stone that poured through her human body, free from the emptiness of the world around her. All that the bear felt, all that the bear could feel, was the simple yet extraordinarily strong desire to survive. And so she tore through the bodies of the hostile creatures as if they were but thin sheets of parchment, barely resisting the pull of her claws and her teeth. She growled with the ferocity of a thousand of her kind, roared with all the strength her powerful body could muster. There was power flowing through her – a kind of power she had never experienced before, pouring forth from some part of her she could not see, would not look at. What it wanted more than anything was to destroy these creatures, these hateful beings that had dared attack her home, her family, and herself. And she let it run its course.

When the last of the attackers lay with his face in the dirt, never to rise again, when the clash and clang of battle had fled from the air and the fighters still standing let their weapons drop low, the bear was approached by a man with pointed ears and cold, clear green eyes. A familiar-looking man, as if known in a previous life. His mouth was set in a grim line, his expression determined and emotionless.

"Laiya, I must speak with you." His voice was cool and calm. The bear recognized the name, understood the man's words, but did not know what he was asking of her. She looked up at him with curiosity, her beady black eyes glinting in the faint light of early morning. "It will help no one for you to grovel in self pity," the man addressed her harshly, "but I will not waste precious time trying to convince you of this. There may be more on their way." His eyes shifted toward the edge of the village and back. "Now listen, and listen well. I fear I know why these creatures have attacked us. There is a silver shard that I hid long ago, in the ruins that lie deep within the swamp. You must find it, and bring it back here. Bevil!" he shouted, catching the attention of a young, brown-haired man, whose face the bear recognized, yet couldn't quite place. "I need you to go with Laiya to the farthest chamber of the swamp ruins." He glanced at the bear, his look disapproving. "Make sure she does what she needs to do." He then strode away, leaving Bevil very confused and the bear wondering why it was she felt perfectly at home surrounded by a bunch of humans and an elf.

"I guess we should go," said Bevil uncertainly, eying the bear with a worried expression on his face. She snorted at him. "OK, um...this way, then." And the two of them set off toward the swamp.

"I'm really sorry," he began as they left the boundaries of the village. "You know, about what happened to Elias."

At his words, she felt something erupt from her throat. A low, angry growl rumbled through her teeth as the fur on the back of her neck rose threateningly. Something was stabbing her, piercing straight through the very center of her being. There was a tugging, a pulling within her, as if this man had shot an arrow through her heart and was now yanking on its end, trying to pull it out. He had hurt her, hurt her terribly, and she couldn't understand how. So she narrowed her eyes and bared her teeth at him.

Bevil's bright blue eyes grew wide and he stumbled backward, away from the bear that had suddenly turned hostile. "Whoa," he exclaimed, waves of fright erupting out of him. "Laiya, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you." He stared at her, wide-eyed, for the first time in his life afraid of his best friend.

Laiya heard her name come from his mouth and sensed the validity of his apology. She was confused for a moment, knowing that he meant her no harm and therefore not understanding why he had hurt her. But as she calmed, as her lips closed over her teeth and her fur settled down on her back, she realized that however he had hurt her, it was not something he had meant to do. So she forgave him, and continued to amble along the path they were taking.

* * *

One of the reasons Laiya avoided the swampy terrain that made up most of the Mere were the tribes of lizardfolk who lived there. They were nothing like the other creatures of the forest that had become friends and family to her. They were humanoid enough that they could not feel the thoughts and feelings in her head, yet feral enough that they would never indulge her in polite conversation. She could feel the hostility emanating from their lairs as she passed along the edges of the marsh they called home, and knew that it was best to stay away.

Yet here she was, lumbering straight into their territory. She could sense them ahead, could feel their minds, full of distrust, and the convictions and stereotypes that she knew would lead to blood. But this was not what dominated her mind, not what she focused on nor what she cared about. Instead, she felt the press of the ground as her heavy paws fell into it over and over again, the rhythm of her stride as her weight shifted through her limbs. She listened to the stretch and pull of the thick muscle that coated her shoulders and hips, and the twitch and jump of her fur and the tingle of her skin as something unfamiliar vibrated in the still air.

They entered the ruins quietly, her claws and Bevil's blade already whetted with the blood of the lizardfolk that had been standing guard outside. She found the fighting simple, enjoying the way her claws sliced through scales and how skulls collapsed so easily beneath her strong paws. She didn't like the taste of the lizardfolks' blood – it was too sticky and bitter – so she avoided killing them with her teeth. Instead she chose to rip and smash with her powerful paws, breaking and tearing and killing. She liked it – it made her feel alive.

They ran out of lizardfolk too quickly for her liking. By this time her hide was littered with cuts and gashes – some deep enough to see muscle – but she neither noticed nor cared. She spun around, ready to face the next batch of large, scaly creatures, only to realize that the gut she had just plunged her claws into belonged to the last of them. Disappointment made its way through her throat in the form of a low grunt, as Bevil, looking none-too-at-home and panting with exertion, ran his unnervingly blue eyes through the dank, smelly halls.

"Daeghun said the farthest chamber, right? So if we came from..." Bevil absentmindedly scratched his head, trying to remember their route, "that way, we need to be going this way, through that door up there." The bear followed him into a large room, the stone tiles on the walls and floors worked into concentric circular patterns.

Even before she entered the room, she could feel its pull. There was a vibration in the air that made her fur stand on its end, and a strange tugging sensation within her. Her instincts told her to leave and get far away from this place, but this was what she had come for, the was the only purpose she had, so she went in anyway.

Bevil glanced about, his eyes searching, not quite sure what it was they were looking for. She was pulled through the room. There was no choice but to follow the call that she felt. She went straight to the small bit of exposed earth in the farthest corner and began to dig, her claws tearing into the ground and unceremoniously dumping heaps of dirt onto the stone surrounding it. The pull was coming from here, she knew it as well as she knew the voices of the animals she had spent her childhood with. It did not take her long to reach it. Her claws raked through the earth once more, this time glancing off of something, something solid.

It was like a bolt of lightning had been send up her foreleg, straight into her heart, then yanked back out and into the ground. The pull was so sudden, so intense, as if her center was being torn right out of her body. She was unprepared, and, caught by surprise, she felt the lighting pull her back, felt the jolt rushing through her legs and her chest and her head and drawing her fur back into her skin. It shrank her claws and her teeth, melted her powerful muscle and shifted her bones and joints. She found herself wearing a vulnerable human body, her limbs curled into herself, trying desperately to cover her chest, to protect herself from this indescribable force. As she returned to her human form, the lightning went away, the screeching vibrations in the air quieted to barely whispers, but the tearing and tugging remained. Violent, aching pain ricocheted through her as her heart was torn out: over, and over, and over again.

* * *

"So, you have found the shard, and without too much trouble, I presume?"

Laiya clutched the small piece of silver to her chest, trembling as if she had just woken from a vivid nightmare. She still felt as though she was being ripped apart from the inside out, but enough stone had hardened in her legs for her to be able to locate them, and after having Bevil practically carry her out of the ruins, was once again able to use them to walk – albeit shakily.

Her eyes, clouded with pain, found their way to her foster-father's face. She could not see the break in his composure as he saw what lay within them, but she could feel – ever so slightly – the hint of surprise and worry that sparked from him, only to once again be reined in, covered up and hidden by the cold, uncompromising personality that he had been wearing for as long as she had known him – for her entire life.

"Bevil, we no longer need your assistance in this matter. Go help Brother Merring tend to the wounded."

Bevil responded with something just short of outrage. "Daeghun! Can't you see Laiy –"

"Go, Bevil." There was a firmness in his voice that left no room for argument. Bevil shot a quick look at Laiya, then back to Daeghun – whose eyes had never left his foster-daughter's face – before shaking his head and walking away.

"What _is _this thing?" Laiya whispered, her voice sounding harsh and desperate.

"I do not know what it is, I only know that it has something to do with the battle that was fought here many years ago. I believe it is what those creatures were searching for – and why they attacked the village. I need you to –"

"But _why?_" Laiya still could not comprehend how the tiny piece of metal seemed to have the ability to suck the very spirit out of her body. "I don't understand."

Now that her heart was beginning to return to a normal pace, and the shivers that rushed through her body had become more infrequent, Laiya had begun trying to wrap her mind around what had happened to her in the ruins. It was difficult, though, to understand it, as the pain she felt now was not nearly as intense. She could feel the stone growing within her. It coursed through her chest, hardening around her heart, around the burning space within her that was still being torn apart. It dulled the pain, but did not reach into the hole that had formed there. The hole through which the shard had pulled everything from her, the hole that left her feeling helpless and exposed, as though anyone in the world could stick their hand in and crush her. By the Gods, she wished the stone would fill that hole.

"I do not know what the shard's significance is," began Daeghun. "Or why those creatures wanted to find it so badly. When my half-br –"

"No, I mean –" Laiya cut him off, trying to find the right words to describe what the shard had done to her, how it had _pulled _her. She pressed it closer to her chest, as if trying to push it through the gap in her heart, to give it what it wanted so it would stop trying to take from her. "There's – there's some sort of magic in this – this shard. I can feel it."

"Strange," Daeghun's expression turned ponderous. "We had them examined when they were first found, and the mage insisted that the only magic he found was very faint – probably a residue of the battle. Perhaps the attack...awakened it, somehow."

Something about Daeghun's words didn't quite click, somehow something seemed off. Her mind flicked back over what he had just told her. And she realized that he had referred to the shard as more than one object.

"_They?_"

Daeghun sighed. "Yes, they. There are two shards that I know of, one, you hold in your hands. The other is with my half-brother Duncan, in Neverwinter."

_Neverwinter..._

There was something about Neverwinter that she couldn't quite remember, something painful, something distant... She could feel the stone in her head now; it flooded her mind and froze, shutting out whatever strange something Neverwinter had stirred within her. It quickly brought her thoughts into focus, producing a new sharpness with which she was finally able to fully process the words her foster-father was saying.

"You must take the shard away," Daeghun continued. "As long as it is here, West Harbor is still in danger. If, as you say, there is a stronger magic coming from that shard, it will be best to take it to someone who can examine it properly. Go to Neverwinter, find Duncan, and take both of the shards to a mage you can trust." Daeghun's eyes drifted over the ruins of that which less than a day ago had been a cheerful village full of hardworking people. Now, the townsfolk were scattered around the remains of the village, their hearts weary and their eyes tinged with fear. "You will need equipment. Weapons, bandages, potions...see what you can gather from the wreckage and from the other villagers." He hesitated. "I have...some armor that I believe may prove useful on your journey. It is in the dark chest at the foot of my bed. There is also a pack there that you will need...and some money. Now, go, and return here when you are ready to leave."

Laiya blinked. "Wait, what? I'm leaving _now?_"

"Yes, you must leave tonight. There may be more of those creatures coming – but if you take the shard away from here, they should leave West Harbor alone."

"Then they'll just come for _me._" Laiya knew Daeghun was not one for being overly protective, but to send her off with the very thing that had caused a pack of duergar and bladelings to raze an entire village to the ground?

"I have a plan in place to throw them off your trail. But we will speak more of that when you are ready to leave. Go now."

And so she went.

* * *

The armor that Daeghun had pointed her to consisted of a long, thick shirt, cut from the hide of a boar, thinner leggings made of leather, and a pair of gloves made from a lighter hide, that of a wolf. The outfit was soft and flexible, as though it had seen years of use, and she was surprised to find that it fit her well. It was obviously made for the body of a woman – and a human woman at that. She wondered briefly where it had come from, but didn't dwell on the thought for long. She took the pack he had mentioned, – an old yet sturdy-looking sack that could be slung over one shoulder – the small coin purse that contained his savings, and a pair of solid leather boots that she found tucked in a corner of his room. She also grabbed a few simple garments from her own drawers, and her personal stash of gold from the hole in her pillow.

She was scrounging around in the militia building for weapons and bandages when Bevil approached her and handed her the Harvest Cup that they had won. The Harvest Fair...it seemed lifetimes ago.

"Here, Laiya. You might be able to sell this for some gold, wherever you're going. I figure you need all the help you can get."

"Thanks, Bevil," she replied, taking the cup.

"And, uh – are you...um, you know – feeling OK?"

Her mind flashed to the first moment she had touched the shard, the pain she had felt as the lightning coursed through her. Then her thoughts snapped back and the image was gone.

"Yeah," she said, her voice only slightly strained. "I'm...better."

After Laiya had said her farewells to Bevil, she stashed all her new equipment in Daeghun's old pack and slipped it over her shoulder, then rejoined Daeghun at the edge of the village. She could feel her resolve settling, her mind becoming harder. She had a goal now, an objective that she could focus on, and the stone had almost completely filled her back up again. It was sharper now, more defined, yet still blocking something. Still reinforcing the walls around her heart so it could withstand the perpetual ripping and tearing, so it didn't hurt nearly as badly as it once had.

"I'm ready. What do I need to do?"

It didn't take long for Daeghun to explain his plan, and then unceremoniously shoo her out of the village. Soon she found herself heading away from West Harbor, away from the only village she had ever known. Leaving behind the people and places that had filled her life for 24 years, the wildlands that had welcomed her, that she had made her home – she walked away from it all without looking back.

And slowly but surely, the stone within her spread, shifting into liquid then hardening back to stone, flowing over and into the burning hole that once had been her heart.


End file.
